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A  Ff^nd-took 


cPIB-SLEViS 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


On  Picture-Play  Writing 

A  Hand-Book  of 
Workmanship 


By 

JAMES     SLEVIN 

Pathe  Freres  Picture-Playwright 


PUBLISHED  BY 

FARMER  SMITH 

Incorporated 
Cedar  Grove,  N.  J. 


Copyright,  1912 
By  George  Henry  Smith 


Printed  by 

Daily  Chronicle  Press 

Orange,  N.J. 


Tneatre  ahs 
Library 

363cr 


To 

MR.  J.  A.  BERST 

PRESIDENT  OF  THE  GENERAL  FILM  CO.  AND 
VICE-PRESIDENT  OF  PATHE  FRERES 

Who  has  done  more  than  any 
Other  to  elevate  the  standard 
of  moving  pictures,  and  on 
whom  more  than  any  other 
the  progress  and  success 
of  this  art  depends. 


892225 


I  TAKE  occasion  here  to  acknowledge  gratefully 
the  very  good  help  of  all  the  play  and  story 
writers,  and  those  who  have  written  on  or  about 
the  subject  from  the  time  of  Aristotle  down,  most 
of  whose  works  I've  read  and  tried  to  profit  by.  If 
I've  neglected  any  it  has  been  an  unintentional  over- 
sight, or  because  of  my  limited  knowledge  of  lang- 
uages. 

I  also  thank  my  many  friends,  whose  advice  I've 
freely  used,  whose  patience  I've  abused,  and  whose 
good  opinion  has  finally  forced  me  to  this  tedious 
effort. 

JAMES  SLEVIN. 


New  York  City, 
December  Fourth, 
One  Thousand  Nine 
Hundred  and  Twelve. 


A  Hand-Book  §f  Workmanship 


Introductory" 


WE  may  regard  a  picture-play  in  three  ways : 
As  a  piece  of  writing. 
As  an  expression  of  life, 

As  a  picture-play  or  series  of  situations  properly 
arranged  for  representation  on  the  screen. 

Of  course  there  are  a  great  many  other  aspects 
from  which  a  picture-play  may  be  viewed,  and  num- 
erous other  standpoints  than  the  three  I've  men- 
tioned. For  instance,  ^yhen  I  witness  a  "chase" 
picture-play,  so  frequent  among  foreign  producers, 
and  so  badly  aped  by  Americans,  the  conclusion  is 
thrust  on  me  that  picture-play  making  is  the  art  of 
demonstrating  how  many  absurd  obstacles  can  be 
put  in  a  man's  way  in  a  given  space,  without  reason 
or  logical  sequence.  This  sort  of  obstacle  race  is,  I 
understand,  in  certain  nooks  and  corners  of  the 
world,  considered  quite  laughable.  Personally  I  can 
hardly  restrain  my  tears  when  I  see  such  an  inane 
exhibition. 

In  another  picture-play,  the  story  consists  of  a 
man  shopping  with  his  wife  and  having  difficulty 
with   bundles   and   boxes.      From   the   subsequent 


On  Picture-Play  Writing 


action,  I  come  to  the  conclusion  that  picture-play 
making  is  the  art  of  balancing  and  squashing  band 
boxes. 

Again  when  I  see  a  somewhat  mature  and  fat 
hero,  playing  a  cowboy,  gotten  up  as  no  human 
outside  of  moving  pictures  ever  appeared,  when  in 
company  with  others  or  alone  this  somewhat  mature 
and  fat  hero  rides  up  hill  and  down  dale,  forward  and 
back,  around  and  around,  mounted  bravely  on  a  dis- 
carded street  car  nag,  and  when  this  continues  for 
the  full  twenty  minutes  without  end  or  object,  mean- 
ing or  direction,  I  can't  help  but  think  that  picture- 
play  making  is  the  art  of  horse-back,  hide  and  seek, 
or  a  game  of  chase  the  wind. 

Most  of  all,  when  I  see  a  moving-picture  of  the 
peculiarly  virtuous  and  otherwise  insipid  young 
man,  pursued  and  persecuted  for  thirty  or  forty 
scenes  by  a  particularly  villainous  villain,  I  am 
minded  for  the  time  that  our  picture-playing  is  the 
art  of  weaving  a  web  of  false  evidence  around  an 
all  too  innocent  person,  and  I  come  away  with  the 
uncomfortable  notion  that  maybe  after  all  our  prison 
house  at  Ossining  and  other  such  establishments 
throughout  the  country  are  filled  with  poor  innocents 
unjustly  accused. 

There  is  one  thing,  however,  that  consoles  me — 
being  of  rather  a  sentimental  turn,  I'm  glad  to  see 
that  all  these  various  stories,  no  matter  what  the 
beginning,  middle  or  general  make-up  consists  of, 


A  Hand-Book  gf  W^orkmanship  9 

end  with  the  invariable  hug  and  kiss,  I  think  after 
all  picture-play  making,  in  its  climaxes  at  least,  must 
be  the  delightful  art  of  hugging  and  kissing.  For  in 
all  times  and  places,  at  home  and  abroad,  in  private 
or  the  public  market  place,  in  all  conditions  or  cli- 
mates, rain  or  shine,  in  season  or  out  of  season,  the 
hero  and  heroine  always  bury  their  troubles  in  one 
long  embrace. 

Well,  you  may  take  your  choice  of  all  these  as- 
pects of  the  picture-play.  I  just  mention  them  off 
hand  as  they  come  to  me.  But  now  I  want  you  to 
consider  it  in  the  first  three  ways  I've  named.  I'll 
say  them  over  once  more. 

Firstly,  a  picture-play  may  be  regarded  as  a  piece 
of  writing.    This  is  the  art  of  the  author. 

Secondly,  as  an  expression  of  human  life.  This 
is  the  art  of  the  dramatist. 

Thirdly,  as  a  picture-play  or  series  of  situations 
properly  arranged  for  representation  on  the  screen. 
This  is  the  art  of  the  picture  playwright  or  scenario 
editor. 

I'm  merely  going  to  touch  on  the  first  two  and 
that  only  in  their  relation  to  the  third,  and  as  soon 
as  I  have  pointed  out  their  relative  bearing,  I'll  drop 
them  and  come  to  the  main  purpose  of  my  book, 
namely,  the  practical  craftsmanship  of  the  work. 

Picture-play  making  has  no  rules.  It  is  easy  to 
write  out  certain  hints  and  recommendations,  to  tell 
the  beginner  especially  what  not  to  do ;  but  the  best 


10 


On  Picture-Play  Writing 


guide  in  the  matter  is  plain  common  sense,  tempered 
of  course  by  artistic  taste  and  mature  judgment. 

The  written  picture-play,  to  make  its  proper  ap- 
peal to  its  public,  must  be  sent  through  an  exceed- 
ingly complex  machine,  the  moving-picture  studio 
and  laboratory.  The  methods  and  conditions  of 
which  are  to  nearly  all  beginners  an  attractive  mys- 
tery. As  they  have  little  or  no  opportunity  to  get 
acquainted  with  the  various  equipment,  mechanism, 
etc.,  they  are  eager  to  learn  it  second  hand  by  read- 
ing it  up. 

Now  then,  in  a  plain  and  practical  way,  I'm  going 
to  call  attention  to  some  of  the  problems  and  possi- 
bilities of  the  picture-play.  One  thing  is  sure,  and 
must  be  stated  at  the  start,  that  the  only  part  of  the 
art  I'm  attempting  to  teach  is  a  formal  and  mechani- 
cal one,  the  art  of  construction. 

One  can  learn  to  write  a  story  in  an  effective  way, 
to  group  one's  ideas  so  to  arrange  one's  transi- 
tions, and  marshal  one's  forces,  as  best  to  get  and 
hold  the  interest  of  the  spectator.  But  the  inspira- 
tion or  idea  comes  from  another  source.  You  either 
have  it  or  not.  If  you  have  it  you  can  be  taught  how 
to  express  it.  If  you  haven't  it,  you  can  no  more 
learn  how  to  get  it  than  you  can  learn  how  to  grow 
six  feet  tall.  You  either  have  it  in  you  or  not,  that's 
all. 

But  you  can  be  consoled  by  the  thought  that  you 
are  under  no  obligation  to  express  that  which  you 


A  Hand-Book  gf  Workmanship  n 

do  not  possess;  and  that  in  the  long  run  you  are 
saved  from  the  many  trials  and  heartaches  of  learn- 
ing a  long  and  tedious  art. 

Some  people  are  born  with  a  lively  talent  or 
native  bump  for  this  art,  and  a  very  little  instruction 
and  practice  renders  them  adepts  at  it ;  while  others 
have  a  dent  where  their  bump  of  inventiveness  ought 
to  be.  There  ar«  still  others  with  a  moderately  de- 
veloped faculty  for  writing,  the  plodders  who  reach 
out  gratefully  for  every  help  they  can  get,  and  it  is 
to  these  that  I  address  the  pages  of  my  book. 

I  am  laying  down  only  such  plain  rules  and  indis- 
pensable rudiments  of  the  art  as  will  help  those  who 
already  possess  the  necessary  talent.  Marconi  could 
not  have  invented  the  wireless  telegraph  without  a 
thorough  grounding  in  and  technical  knowledge  of 
electricity,  although  there  are  thousands  of  others 
with  the  same  knowledge  who  could  never  have  in- 
vented wireless  telegraphy  or  anything  else. 

The  picture  playwright  labors  under  a  great 
many  serious  difficulties  in  arranging  his  theme  or 
story  for  his  audience.  At  the  start  off,  we  assume 
that  he  has  a  theme  or  story  which  is  new,  unique, 
original  and  of  the  widest  possible  interest  to  all 
classes.  Then  he  must  think  out  with  great  care  and 
discretion,  the  particular  types  of  characters  best 
suited  to  carry  on  his  story.  When  he  has  further 
drawn  on  his  imagination  for  the  main  incidents  of 
his  action,  he  has  to  chop  it  up  into  fourteen,  twenty. 


12  On  Picture-Play  Wanting 

forty  or  more  scenes  as  the  case  may  require,  each 
scene  containing  a  fair  portion  of  the  action  of  his 
story. 

Having  so  divided  his  material  into  different 
scenes,  he  must  devise  and  arrange  the  proper  se- 
quence of  incidents,  so  that  the  theme  itself  as  well 
as  the  characters  expressing  it  are  fittingly  intro- 
duced to  the  spectators,  so  that  attention  is  caught 
from  the  start  and  held. 

Say  in  a  story  containing  thirty-five  scenes  car- 
ried on  by  different  numbers  of  characters  from  one 
alone  in  a  scene  to  ninety  or  one  hundred. 

Each  scene  will  have  to  belong  intimately  to  the 
play  and  be  part  and  parcel  of  it. 

It  will  have  to  be  so  arranged  that  it  will  carry 
on  the  action  of  the  story  in  the  most  natural  way, 
without  bringing  the  characters  on  too  frequently  or 
unnecessarily,  and  so  as  to  give  them  all  a  good 
logical  reason  for  their  coming  and  going. 

Now  these  thirty-five  scenes  can  be  arranged  in 
thousands  of  different  ways,  but  the  particular  ar- 
rangement and  design  best  suited  to  carry  on  this 
particular  theme  and  story  must  be  thought  out. 

This  will  give  you  some  idea  of  the  judgment, 
taste  and  discretion  needed  in  getting  fit  and  natural 
sequence  in  your  series  of  incidents. 

Furthermore,  every  scene  and  every  bit  of  action 
in  every  scene  must  first  of  all  carry  on  the  story. 


A  Hand-Book  if  Workmanship  is 

Secondly,  must  develop  and  elucidate  the  char- 
acter concerned. 

Thirdly,  it  must  fit  the  period,  costume,  location 
and  theme. 

Fourthly,  although  natural,  the  action  must  tend 
a  trifle  toward  the  ideal  with  a  certain  grace,  rhythm 
and  harmony. 

Fifthly,  it  should  form  and  lead  up  to  a  perfect 
transition,  blending  the  particular  scene  with  the 
ones  preceding  and  immediately  following. 

Lastly,  this  must  be  done  quite  implicitly  and  un- 
consciously, as  though  the  picture  playwright  were 
quite  unaware  of  it. 

I  have  tried  here  to  give  you  some  idea  of  the 
complexity  of  the  picture-play  makers'  art.  It  will 
moreover  serve  to  explain  why  so  few  have  the  pa- 
tience to  learn  it. 


14  On  Picture-Play  Writing 


CHAPTER  I 

cA  Piece  of  Writing 

You  will  often  hear  it  said  that  the  writing,  or 
literary  style,  has  nothing  to  do  with  a  pic- 
ture-play :  that  the  great  test  of  merit  is,  will 
it  act?  Now  this  statement,  although  partly  true, 
is  misleading,  as  it  is  quite  obvious  that  the  more 
attractive  one's  style,  the  clearer  one's  method  of 
expression,  the  better  able  one  is  to  present  a  theme 
or  story. 

First  then  make  the  word  picture,  brief,  concise, 
crisp,  pointed,  but  adequate  to  the  needs  of  the  sub- 
ject matter.  Besides  enabling  you  to  sell  your  play, 
this  will  serve  to  stimulate  the  tired  brain  of  the 
editor  or  director,  and  the  results  will  show  in  the 
production. 

I  would  say  that  the  great  test  of  a  picture-play 
is,  will  it  read  as  well  as  act?  Here  it  may  occur 
to  you  that  the  great  and  final  test  of  merit  in  a 
picture-play  as  well  as  in  any  other  sort  of  writing  is, 
will  it  sell? 


A  Hand-Book  gf  'Workmanship  '5 

Now  I'm  going  to  set  aside  all  further  considera- 
tion of  writing  or  of  literary  style.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  the  best  literary  criticism  of  the  day  does  not 
concern  itself  with  moving  picture  writing  at  all. 
The  best  dramatic  criticism  does  not  concern  itself 
with  the  picture  drama,  the  best  art  criticism  does 
not  concern  itself  with  the  moving  picture  art.  This 
is  a  weighty  matter  for  authors  and  producers  to  re- 
flect on.  However,  I  fear  that  the  truth  and  justice 
of  this  decision  cannot  well  be  called  into  question. 

It  is  for  us  who  are  engaged  in  writing  for  the 
screen  to  try  and  better  our  standing  and  remove 
this  reproach. 


16  On  Picture-Play  Writing 


CHAPTER  II 

cAn  Expression  of  Life 

I  RECALL  that  as  a  youngster  I  was  always  an 
inveterate  reader.  Fairy  tale,  romance,  wild 
west,  anything,  so  long  as  it  was  a  story,  held 
my  attention.  I  must  confess  that  Jesse  James  and 
Cole  Younger  were  very  attractive  figures  to  me  in 
those  days.  Although  I  was  never  quite  satisfied  as 
to  the  moral  rectitude  of  their  mode  of  life,  their 
bravery  and  daring  were  so  marked,  their  adven- 
tures so  stirring,  that  I  found  them  on  the  whole 
very  much  to  be  admired.  Indeed,  I  considered  their 
lives  far  more  interesting  than  that  of  any  school 
boy  in  the  land. 

Now  the  average  moving  picture  audience  is  very 
much  like  a  child.  It  wants  a  story,  without  any 
regard  to  the  lesson  or  moral  to  be  drawn  from  it; 
without  regard  to  truth,  history,  character  or  any- 
thing else  outside  of  entertainment.  Though  this 
is  all  very  true,  one  cannot  deny  that  the  demand  for 
a  story  or  series  of  incidents,  for  this  swift  succes- 


A  Hand-Book  §f  Workmanship  n 

sions  of  exciting,  empty  situations,  with  no  concern 
about  truth,  life  or  character  development,  is  really 
very  childish. 

What  I  want  to  say  is,  mere  situations  and  inci- 
dents, mere  stories  presented  as  such,  are  nothing 
but  crude  melodrama,  unless  they  are  used  as  a 
means  of  character  development  and  expression  of 
human  life. 

In  a  really  live  picture-play  the  characters  should 
control  the  story,  but  in  no  case  excepting  a  dead 
play  does  the  story  control  the  character.  This  is 
the  essential  difference  between  a  live  play  and  a 
dead  one. 

Nearly  everyone  who  has  written  on  tl.,?  subject 
of  play  or  story  writing  has  brought  this  very  matter 
up  for  discussion. 

A  picture-play  undoubtedly  can  be  written,  as 
most  of  them  have  been  written,  witlioat  arythir^ 
that  can  be  called  character,  but  it  is  hard  to  con- 
ceive of  a  picture-play  without  a  story  of  some  sort. 

Now,  although  this  is  quite  true,  it  is  entirely 
unimportant  to  our  argument.  We  all  know  that 
story  or  action  is  by  history,  tradition  and  common 
sense,  the  base  and  foundation  of  the  picture-play, 
but  is  not  its  noblest  element,  nor  that  by  which  its 
standard  or  rating  of  merit  should  be  measured. 

The  skeleton  of  a  man  is  his  fundamental  element 
no  doubt,  and  even  when  stripped  of  skin  and  flesh, 
with  some  slight  assistance,  it  can  still  retain  its 


18  On  Picture-Play  Writing 

form  and  upright  position,  as  we  may  see  in  any 
anatomical  museum ;  whereas,  a  man  without  bones, 
would  be  about  as  able  to  stand  upright  as  a  jelly 
fish.  However,  it  would  be  the  height  of  absurdity 
to  say  that  the  skeleton  and  not  the  brain,  flesh, 
nerves,  etc.,  is  therefore  the  noblest  and  most  im- 
portant part  of  man. 

It  seems  to  me  that  what  is  most  fitted  for  the 
picture-play  is  to  show  character  in  story  or  action. 

I'm  not  in  any  way  condemning  story  telling,  nor 
the  value  of  situation,  I  simply  say  that  the  rating  of 
merit  in  situation  and  story  is  its  relation  to,  and 
presentation  of  a  better  knowledge  of,  human  life 
and  character.  And  this  brings  me  to  the  third  and 
really  most  important  part  of  my  book,  the  picture- 
pi?.-/  or  serier>  of  situations  properly  arranged  for 
representation  on  the  screen,  which  I  shall  deal  with 
a^  completely  as  space  will  permit,  under  its  various 
subdivisions  and  captions. 


A  Hand-Book  §f  Workmanship  i9 


CHAPTER  III 

zA  Picture -Play— The  Theme 

BY  the  word  theme  I  mean  either  its  subject  or 
its  story.  For  although  most  of  us  have  some 
sort  of  specific  theme  in  mind  when  we  sit 
down  to  write,  it  sometimes  happens  that  a  story  is 
conceived  without  any  definite  theme  in  mind  at  all. 
Again  the  story  is  just  as  liable  to  suggest  the  theme 
as  the  theme  is  to  suggest  the  story.  So  instead  of 
deliberately  going  about  writing  a  play  on  prohi- 
bition, labor  unions,  or  the  evil  of  trusts,  and  then 
looking  about  for  a  story  to  illustrate  it,  you  will 
often  find  it  more  practical  to  conceive  of  the  story 
first,  and  illustrate  your  specific  theme,  if  you  decide 
to  have  one  at  all,  as  you  go  along. 

In  place  of  an  abstract  specific  theme,  one  many 
wish  to  illustrate  some  broad  phase  or  condition  of 
human  life,  without  confining  oneself  to  any  particu- 
lar character  or  group  of  characters.  One's  artistic 
right  in  this  regard  cannot  be  denied  one  may  even 
claim  the  precedent  of  the  classics  for  tableau  plays 
of  this  sort. 


20  On  Picture-Play  Writing 

The  writer  who  knows  some  interesting  aspect  of 
life  so  intimately  that  he  can  make  it  live  again  on 
the  screen,  can  safely  defy  the  narrow  prejudices  of 
the  critics,  and  offer  his  tableau  play  with  only  as 
much  of  story  and  situation  as  truthfully  belongs  to 
it. 

Many  charming  domestic  plays,  and  idyllic 
pictures  of  country  life  are  ruined  artistically  by 
dragging  in  neck  and  crop  some  thrilling  melodrama. 

Start  your  picture-play  with  a  unique  theme,  an 
original  story,  an  impressive  character,  a  strikingly, 
interesting  or  unusually  funny  situation  or  a  typical 
phase  of  society,  keeping  always  in  mind  that  the 
highest  aim  of  the  picture-play  is  to  convey  a  true 
knowledge  of  human  life  and  character. 

There  are  ninety  millions  or  more  of  our  fellows, 
living  here  with  us  in  our  own  country,  not  to  men- 
tion the  billions  living  in  all  other  countries  of  the 
world,  each  presenting  in  his  or  her  life  a  moving 
picture  full  of  varied  action  and  interest,  besides 
developing  a  character  of  great  complexity. 

This  is  the  fruitful  source  from  which  we  can 
draw  our  story,  situation,  character  or  theme.  Now 
the  art  of  picture-play  making  helps  you  to  abstract 
with  rare  taste  and  mature  judgment  the  very  quin- 
tessence of  the  characters,  situations  and  phases  of 
life,  and  so  to  condense  and  pack  them  that  they  can 
be  presented  in  a  picture-play  of  from  eighteen  to 
twenty  minutes  duration. 


A  Hand-Book  §f  Workmanship  21 

An  easy  method  of  stimulating  your  imagination 
will  be  to  tabulate  all  the  professions,  industries, 
occupations,  social  conditions,  modes  of  life,  and 
styles  of  character  that  you  have  any  knowledge  of, 
and  fit  your  stories  or  ideas  accordingly.  This  will 
give  you  wider  range,  and  will  add  greater  variety  to 
the  subjects  of  your  writings. 

It  may  happen  that  the  impulses  to  try  your  hand 
at  writing  will  come  to  you,  and  you  w^ill  sit  down 
with  the  determination  to  set  your  mind  to  work  and 
to  invent  a  story  or  plot.  After  an  effort  of  this 
sort,  you  may  invent  something,  but  I'm  always  sus- 
picious of  stories  so  invented.  You'll  often  find,  if 
you  are  entirely  truthful  with  yourself,  that  instead 
af  inventing  an  original  idea  in  such  cases,  you  are 
more  likely  to  be  drawing  on  the  bank  account  of 
your  memory. 

On  the  other  hand,  you  may  sit  listlessly,  with- 
out any  thought  of  writing  at  all,  and  through  your 
mind  without  any  premeditation  or  warning,  an  idea 
flashes.  Now  ideas  coming  in  this  way  are  generally 
more  to  the  purpose.  They  have  the  advantage  of 
being  natural  and  spontaneous,  and  are  much  easier 
to  carry  out  in  the  detail  of  construction. 

With  regard  to  ideas  for  picture-plays,  you  are 
in  a  position  similar  to  the  operator  at  the  wireless 
telegraph  station.  You  may  sit  for  hours  without 
anything  of  interest  occurring  to  your  imagination, 
when  from  the  most  unexpected  sources  a  message 


22  On  Picture-Play  Writing 

arrives.  Again  you  are  like  the  wireless  operator  in 
so  much  as  you  are  to  judge  of  the  importance  or 
value  of  the  message,  also  you  are  expected  to  have 
the  requisite  technical  knowledge  for  recording  it, 
and  giving  it  out  through  the  proper  channels  to  the 
waiting  public. 

So  I  would  say  that  the  story  or  idea  that  comes 
to  you  naturally  and  without  effort  on  your  part, 
the  story  that,  so  to  speak,  chooses  you,  is  generally 
much  better  than  the  story  you  might  choose. 


A  Hand-Book  gf  Workmanship  23 


CHAPTER  IV 

What  Is  Dramatic? 

CRISIS  or  conflict  is  the  very  essence  of  the 
dramatic  in  the  picture-play.  The  play  itself  is 
a  more  or  less  rapidly  developing  crisis  in 
destiny,  or  circumstance.  The  big  dramatic  scene 
of  a  play  is  a  crisis  within  a  crisis. 

Picture-play  making  in  a  way  is  the  art  of  pre- 
senting a  crisis,  just  as  story  writing  is  the  art  of 
gradual  developments.  Its  slowness  of  method  is 
one  of  the  principal  points  in  which  the  story  is  dif- 
ferent from  the  play.  The  story  writer  gives  you 
great  sections  of  life  with  gradual  unfolding  of  char- 
acter and  conditions,  while  the  playwright  gives  you 
only  the  culminating  points  or  climaxes,  the  rapid 
and  startling  changes. 

However,  it  is  quite  obvious,  that  not  every  crisis 
is  suitable  drama.  A  surgical  operation,  a  civil 
service  examination,  an  ordinary  marriage,  may  pre- 
sent an  actual  crisis  in  a  man's  life  without  being  fit 
material  for  presentation  on  the  screen.     Now  we 


24  On  Picture-Play  Writing 

can  recognize  the  dramatic  crisis  in  this  way :  First 
of  all  it  comes  about  as  the  result  of  several  minor 
crises,  involving  emotional  excitement,  and  the  un- 
folding of  character. 

Take  for  instance  one  of  the  most  ordinary  and 
hard  worked  of  crises,  a  bankruptcy.  Most  people 
who  figure  in  the  daily  accounts  of  bankrupts  simply 
drift  to  leeward  by  slow  gradations,  experiencing 
discouragement,  fear,  hopelessness  and  despair,  in 
a  more  or  less  degree,  according  to  their  particular 
temperament,  or  the  condition  of  their  livers.  In  all 
this  there  may  be  matter  for  a  good  story,  though 
not  even  one  really  dramatic  scene.  But  bankruptcy 
sometimes  occurs  in  the  form  of  one  or  more  sudden 
sharp  crises,  and  so  has  been  made  use  of  to  excel- 
lent effect 

In  many  of  the  old  melodramas  we've  seen  the 
business  man,  glance  at  the  news  ticker,  open  a 
telegram  or  newspaper,  only  to  find  that  he  is  financi- 
ally ruined.  In  so  many  of  our  stock  market  plays. 
Wall  Street,  or  wheat  pit  plays,  this  has  been  done 
until  we  are  tired  of  it.  Gambling  of  various  kinds 
has  been  as  frequently  used  to  bring  about  a  dra- 
matic crisis  in  someone's  life,  often  ending  in  at- 
tempted suicide. 

The  dramatic  crisis  deals  in  emotions,  and  the 
more  emotion  and  greater  variety  you  can  get  out 
of  a  situation,  the  nearer  you  are  to  the  dramatic. 
The  more  crisply  you  handle  your  scene,  the  more 


A  Hand-Book  §f  Workmanship  25 

novelty  and  unexpected  thrill  you  extract  from  it, 
the  more  acceptable  is  your  art. 

A  conflict,  a  clashing  of  wills,  opposing  interests, 
a  fight  of  some  kind  is  always  dramatic,  also  the 
sudden  change  from  joy  to  gloom,  from  hope  to 
despair,  when  brought  about  naturally  and  with 
good  cause. 

It  may  be  as  Maeterlinck  says  in  his  "The  Tragic 
in  Daily  Life,"  that  an  old  man  seated  in  his  arm- 
chair, waiting  patiently,  with  his  lamp  beside  him, 
submitting  with  bent  head  to  the  presence  of  his 
soul  and  his  destiny;  motionless  as  he  is,  does  yet 
live  in  reality  a  deeper,  more  human  and  more  uni- 
versal life  than  the  lover  who  strangles  his  mistress, 
or  the  captain  who  avenges  his  honor.  However,  the 
slow  internal  tragedy  of  his  soul  is  material  for  the 
novelist,  and  not  for  the  swift,  crisp  methods  of  the 
picture-play. 

This  crispness,  however,  may  easily  degenerate 
into  absurd  melodrama;  as  in  a  picture  which  I've 
recently  seen.  There  was  a  much  persecuted 
heroine  confined  for  some  cause  which  I  could  not 
well  make  out,  on  the  third  floor  of  a  tenement 
house.  .Now  for  some  reason  or  other  she  was  in 
imminent  danger  with  no  apparent  chance  of  escape ; 
it  seemed  that  she  had  no  resource  but  to  submit  to 
the  villain  who  was  even  then  at  the  door,  or  to  dash 
herself  from  the  third  story  window  to  the  narrow 
street  below.    Suddenly  there  appeared  on  the  scene 


26  On  Picture-Play  Writing 

three  Chinamen  who  by  a  special  dispensation  of 
providence  happened  to  be  accomplished  acrobats. 
Now  the  second  climbed  onto  the  shoulders  of  the 
first,  the  third  onto  the  shoulders  of  the  second, 
forming  a  sort  of  human  step-ladder  for  the  lady's 
rescue.  The  heroine,  it  would  seem,  had  latent 
acrobatic  talents  herself,  combined  with  the  most 
fool-hardy  daring,  for  she  mounted  the  shoulders  of 
the  one  who  stood  on  top,  and  was  successfully  car- 
ried across  the  street  to  the  third  story  of  another 
tenement,  which  for  some  mysterious  reason  had  a 
convenient  balcony  to  receive  her. 

In  another  recent  picture,  released  by  a  Western 
firm,  after  many  scenes  of  more  or  less  dullness,  a 
man  found  himself  caught  on  the  roof  of  a  burning 
building.  At  the  last  moment  of  his  agony,  when 
he  was  on  the  point  of  being  devoured  by  the  flames, 
a  derrick  suddenly  swung  down  from  mid-air  with 
two  men  dangling  from  a  chain.  Recognizing  the 
man  on  the  roof  as  a  fellow  hero  in  distress,  they 
quickly  rescued  him,  and  they  all  made  a  safe  descent 
while  the  building  located  on  a  city  street  was  burn- 
ing to  the  ground  with  never  a  fireman  in  sight. 

Now,  although  these  things  show  dramatic  crises 
after  a  fashion,  they  are  nevertheless  great  absurdi- 
ties, and  in  no  way  rational  or  commendable  drama, 
or  fit  for  the  purpose  of  the  picture-play. 


A  Hand-Book  gf  Workmanship  27 

CHAPTER  V 

True  To  Life 

IT  seems  to  me  that  there  is  no  other  question  so 
often  misquoted,  so  little  understood  and  so 
variously  abused  among  spectators,  writers,  pro- 
ducers and  critics,  as  this  one  of  being  true  to  life  in 
a  picture-play. 

The  moving  picture  art  is  unlike  any  other,  inas- 
much as  it  employs  in  its  method  of  expression  real 
men  and  v/omen,  in  their  actual  homes,  playgrounds, 
battlefields,  ships,  railroad  trains  or  wherever  found. 
Now  this  method  has  created  a  very  false  impression 
in  the  minds  of  many,  that  a  picture-play  is  good 
and  "true  to  life"  insomuch  as  it  is  an  exact  picture 
of  all  the  details  of  real  life,  with  all  its  actors  doing, 
living,  marrying  and  giving  in  marriage  just  as  they 
do  in  real  life.  This  is  very  far  from  true,  as  we 
shall  find  on  closer  and  more  thorough  analysis. 

In  the  first  place,  taking  the  ordinary  play  of 
about  eighteen  to  twenty  minutes  duration,  the 
picture-playwright  has  only  an  average  of  about 


28  On  Picture-Play  Writing 

three  minutes  in  which  to  introduce,  develop  and 
unfold  each  character ;  whereas  nature  makes  about 
seventy  odd  years  for  the  same  work.  Now  you  will 
see  at  a  glance  that  a  picture-play  ordinarily  can 
only  give  you  about  one  twenty-fourth  of  one- 
million-five-hundred-thousandth  part  of  what  nature 
offers. 

Keeping  in  mind  the  very  great  variety  and  com- 
plexity of  every  human  personality,  the  almost  in- 
finite aspects  and  phases  in  which  it  may  be  studied, 
it  is  easily  believable  that  there  are  in  the  life  of  the 
average  seventy  years  duration,  hundreds  of  thou- 
sands of  varying  characteristics,  according  to  the  mo- 
ments the  writer  selects  for  interpretation,  and  ac- 
cording to  the  way  in  which  he  chooses  to  look  at 
them. 

If  the  writer  tries  to  show  all  of  a  many-sided 
character,  completely  so  as  to  give  the  spectator  a 
clear  idea  of  the  whole  life  history  of  the  man,  his 
methods  and  details  must  be  widely  different  from 
nature's  details  and  methods. 

The  mere  smallest  fraction  of  a  character  cannot 
be  like  a  whole  character,  nor  can  a  character  that 
has  to  be  presented  in  about  three  minutes  be  like  a 
character  that  is  presented  in  seventy  or  more  years ; 
there  must  be  many  and  considerable  concessions, 
quite  extensive  compromises  and  accommodations, 
and  setting  aside  of  detail.  In  fact  the  writer  must 
be  guilty  of  quite  some  falsification  if  he  desires  his 


A  Hand-Book  if  Workmanship  29 

characters  to  be  anywhere  near  true  to  life  in  their 
most  essential  and  innermost  qualities.  Hence, 
picture-play  making  has  been  called  the  truth  of  the 
unreal. 

The  same  thing  must  apply  to  situation  and  inci- 
dent. The  method  of  presentation  of  a  story  in  mov- 
ing pictures  is  as  unlike  real  life  as  the  landscape 
painted  on  canvas  is  unlike  real  water,  trees,  and 
earth.  This  does  not  mean  that  there  is  no  such 
thing  as  honest  and  real  interpretation  of  character 
and  incident.  On  the  contrary  great  character  and 
events  can  be  shown  quite  faithfully  and  truthfully 
in  the  moving-picture,  but  never  as  in  real  life.  If 
you  were  to  make  the  experiment  you  would  find 
the  few  who  looked  at  your  "real  life  picture"  ac- 
cusing you  of  the  utterest  insincerity  and  falsifica- 
tion. 

The  most  ordinary  mistake  is  to  say  that  a  char- 
acter or  incident  is  unreal  because  it  is  unusual.  It 
is  enough  to  drive  one  insane  to  hear  or  read  the 
complacent  comment  of  good  folk  from  Hoboken  or 
Flatbush  or  some  other  nick-in-the-woods,  who  find 
a  picture-play  not  true  to  life,"  because  its  char- 
acters, incidents  and  situations  are  not  such  as  they 
meet  with  every  day  at  the  corner  grocer's  in  Flat- 
bush  or  Hoboken.  They  do  not  realize  that  what 
happens  at  the  corner  grocer's  in  Hoboken  or  Flat- 
bush  or  the  characters  that  congregate  there,  may 
be  of  very  little  interest  to  the  rest  of  the  world,  in 


30  On  Picture-Play  Writing 

fact  may  be  of  no  account  whatever  to  other  patrons 
of  the  pictures.  Though  of  course  every  individual 
character  in  Hoboken  and  Flatbush  is  of  interest 
and  importance  to  the  picture-play  maker  as  a  study 
at  least.  But  if  a  story  deals  with  unusual  inci- 
dents from  some  other  part  of  the  world,  and  un- 
usual characters  which  do  not  hail  from  Hoboken 
or  Flatbush,  they  should  not  therefore  be  criticised 
by  these  good  folks  as  unreal  and  untrue  to  life. 

It  is  important  to  learn  to  distinguish  between 
the  unusual  or  uncommon,  and  the  unreal. 

I  quote  at  some  length  in  another  part  of  this 
work,  a  picture-play  in  which  there  is  a  situation 
where  a  burglar  pauses  in  his  burglarizing  of  a 
house  to  adjust  a  lovers'  quarrel,  and  bring  it  to  a 
happy  ending.  Now  this  is  a  situation  which  might 
not  occur  more  than  once  in  a  thousand  years;  yet 
it  is  entirely  probable  and  serves  to  get  beneath  the 
crust  of  a  thoroughly  human  character  in  a  way 
that  only  such  a  situation  would  have  served.  But 
it  is  in  no  way  an  unreal  situation  such  as  the  often 
repeated  situation  where  one  or  more  characters 
overhears  long  dialogues  and  witnesses  important 
actions  occurring  among  others  in  the  same  room, 
or  in  ridiculously  close  proximity;  or  where  we  are 
asked  to  believe  that  a  detective  can  pass  unrecog- 
nized among  those  who  know  him  intimately,  when 
disguised  merely  by  the  use  of  a  false  mustache  or 
wig. 


A  Hand-Book  §f  Workmanship  31 

Yet  spectators,  critics,  and  even  producers  who 
accept  these  stale  impossible  old  tricks  with  enthu- 
siasm, will  call  in  question  some  incident,  character 
or  situation,  which  is  merely  unusual  or  uncommon, 
and  has  not  happened  in  their  particular  nick-in-the- 
woods. 

In  the  matter  of  probability;  we  find  nature  vio- 
lating it  every  hour.  You  can  scarcely  open  your 
daily  paper  without  reading  of  some  almost  un- 
believable happening.  So  when  you  see  a  situation 
or  character  presented  in  moving  pictures,  do  not 
condemn  it  because  it  has  not  happened  to  fall  under 
your  limited  observation  or  occurred  in  your  nar- 
row circle  of  acquaintance. 

You  should  only  ask  yourself  if  what  you  have 
seen  has  been  vividly  expressed  by  the  picture 
maker,  whether  it  fits  reasonably  into  his  theme  and 
bears  consistent  relation  to  the  rest  of  his  story. 

It  probably  has  never  occurred  in  this  world 
that  any  group  of  persons  have  gone  through  the 
characteristic  and  dramatic  incidents  of  their  lives 
in  such  a  way  that  they  could  be  exactly  copied  for 
use  in  a  picture-play. 

We  have  all  had  certain  dramatic  moments,  or 
scenes  of  some  short  duration,  and  we  all  have 
characters  and  are  living  lives  that  present  material 
for  the  picture  playwright.  But  none  of  us  have 
ever  lived  through  or  taken  part  in  a  scene  that 


32  On  Picture-Play  Writing 

could  be  exactly  copied  for  the  screen  in  all  its  de- 
tails, especially  in  matter  of  duration  of  time. 

So  distrust  all  judgment  of  a  picture-play  that 
views  it  as  an  exact  copy  of  real  life.  Remember 
that  neither  in  this  nor  in  any  other  art  can  any- 
thing be  tastefully  presented  in  mere  imitation  of 
nature. 


A  Hand-Book  §f  Workmanship  33 


CHAPTER  VI 


Routine  of  Construction 


I'LL  start  off  with  an  illustration  which  will  help 
you  to  understand  what  I  mean  by  picture- 
play  construction.  I  want  you  to  transfer  your- 
self in  imagination  to  our  national  capital  at  Wash- 
ington, situated  on  its  hill  overlooking  the  city. 
Picture  to  yourself  the  surrounding  landscape  be- 
fore the  capitol  building  was  constructed,  the  num- 
berless irregular  and  varied  lines  and  curves  the 
landscape  then  presented. 

The  architect  came  along,  and  after  a  definite 
plan  and  design,  with  all  specifications  and  details, 
constructed  the  enormous  and  beautiful  building,  on 
the  top  of  the  hill,  in  quite  the  finest  location  he 
could  select. 

Now  note  the  difference  between  this  excellently 
designed  building,  and  the  surrounding  landscape 
as  it  was.  The  lines  of  the  building  are  symmetri- 
cal, exact  according  to  a  certain  plan  and  design. 
The  surrounding  landscape  was  careless,  confused 
and  unsymmetrical. 


34  On  Picture-Play  Writing 

The  picture  playwright  is  the  architect  of  his 
country's  picture  drama,  and  what  the  architect  did 
for  that  wild  countryside,  the  picture  maker  must  do 
for  his  country's  life  and  character. 

First  of  all  there  must  be  correct  design  in  every 
detail  of  his  work.  The  total  effect  of  the  capitol 
building  is  that  it  was  built  after  a  carefully  wrought 
design.  The  effect  of  the  former  landscape  or  coun- 
tryside was,  that  it  was  apparently  thrown  about 
without  any  play  whatever.  Nature's  work  is  full 
of  willfulness,  carelessness  and  confusion;  man's 
work  is  full  of  purpose,  arrangement  and  definite 
design. 

All  rules  of  construction  are  arbitrary  and  rela- 
tive. The  highest  intention  of  a  picture  play  should 
be  not  to  turn  out  a  nice  and  clever  bit  of  crafts- 
manship, but  to  give  a  better  insight  into  human 
life  and  character. 

Your  story  should  be  so  constructed  that  it  does 
not  present  events  as  they  actually  happen,  but  so 
that  it  will  leave  an  impression  on  your  mind  after 
the  eighteen  or  twenty  minutes  traffic  of  the  screen, 
similar  to  what  you  would  retain  if  you  had  been 
able  to,  and  had  possessed  the  patience  to  give  the 
weeks,  months  or  years  necessary  for  the  observa- 
tion of  such  a  happening  in  real  life ;  as  though  you 
had  been  intimately  acquainted  with  all  the  char- 
acters or  personages  who  took  part  in  the  story, 
so  that  at  the  end  of  the  picture-play,  the  impres- 


A  Hand-Book  if  Workmanship  35 

sion  on  your  mind  would  be  somewhat  after  the 
manner  of  a  memory  of  something  through  which 
you  yourself  had  lived  years  before,  of  which  only 
the  most  striking,  important  and  vivid  details  re- 
main with  you. 

You  see  construction  is  after  all  merely  the  art 
of  selection,  condensation  and  arrangement. 

Now  then,  keeping  all  this  in  mind,  your  first 
step  in  construction  of  a  picture-play  should  be  to 
draw  up  on  paper  a  brief  scenario  or  routine  of 
scenes,  entrances  and  exits  of  characters  and  group- 
ing of  incidents. 

Later  this  can  be  dispensed  with,  when  by  con- 
stant practice  you  have  so  developed  your  memory 
and  power  of  concentration  that  you  can  retain  a  clear 
outline  of  your  story  in  your  mind,  always  ready 
for  reference,  without  any  such  aid.  .However,  do 
not  attempt  this  feat  till  by  long  practice  and  experi- 
ence you  are  sure  you  can  accomplish  it.  Other- 
wise you  will  fall  into  a  go-as-you-please  system  of 
construction,  which  will  confuse  your  ideas  and  de- 
feat your  purpose  as  a  writer. 

In  a  picture-play,  grouping  of  incidents,  transi- 
tions, proportion  and  balance  are  so  essential  that  a 
clear  outline  either  on  paper  or  in  your  memory  is 
as  necessary  to  you  as  a  set  of  plans  is  to  an  archi- 
tect about  to  put  up  an  important  building. 

This  method  of  first  laying  out  a  play  in  outline 


36  On  Picture-Play  Writing 

or  scenario  form  comes  to  us  from  the  writers  of 
the  regular  or  legitimate  drama. 

In  fact,  years  ago  the  playwright  of  the  Italian 
commedia  dell'  arte  depended  entirely  on  such  a 
brief  scenario  or  outline  of  scenes,  leaving  it  to  the 
actors  to  fill  in  the  dialogue  and  action.  Now  the 
same  method  was  in  use  shortly  before  Shake- 
speare's time,  as  we  can  see  from  some  "Ms."  or 
"Plats"  which  are  still  extant  in  England. 

This  scenario  or  brief  scheme  of  the  coming  on 
and  going  off  of  the  actors,  was  used  in  this  way. 
It  was  hung  up  conveniently  in  the  wings  where  the 
actors  referred  to  it  from  time  to  time  to  refresh 
their  memories,  and  then  made  their  entrances  ac- 
cordingly. When  on  the  stage,  they  talked  till  they 
had  finished  their  particular  bit  or  run  out  of  breath, 
then  the  next  actor  or  group  of  actors  came  on  to 
relieve  them,  and  so  they  labored  through  the  two 
or  three  hours  of  their  play,  if  such  it  might  be 
called. 

This  same  method  was  made  use  of  by  the  old 
fashioned  minstrel  show  "after  piece"  and  the  "med- 
icine shows"  which  were  at  one  time  popular  in 
certain  parts  of  our  own  country,  but  which  died  a 
natural  and  unlamented  death  about  ten  years  ago. 

The  growth  from  this  loose  method  of  construc- 
tion in  the  sixteenth  century  proceeded  by  easy 
steps  to  the  more  or  less  complete  play  which  was 
read  from  the  prompt  box  or  prompt  side  of  the 


A  Hand-Book  if  Workmanship  37 

stage.  By  the  way,  I  assume  that  you  know  what 
a  prompt  box  is.  Even  in  my  own  time  I  have  seen 
one  of  those  abominations  and  anachronisms  of  the 
theatre  in  actual  use. 

Well,  as  soon  as  the  theatre  became  a  recognized 
business,  not  to  say  art  or  profession,  and  the  actors 
were  classed  as  at  least  nearly  respectable  vaga- 
bonds, the  complete  play  was  found  absolutely 
necessary  to  the  very  existence  of  the  theatre,  and 
the  old  method  of  extemporizing  or  improvising  from 
a  scenario  or  scheme  of  scenes  w^as  relegated  to 
cheap  minstrel  "after  pieces,"  "medicine  shows" 
and  in  due  course  to  the  scrap  heap,  where  such 
methods  rightfully  belong. 

For  some  reason  or  other  this  "medicine  show" 
method  of  play  construction  was  dug  out  of  the 
scrap  heap  and  was  made  use  of  in  the  earlier 
picture-plays  of  five  or  six  years  ago.  In  fact  such 
crude  and  archaic  methods  are  still  almost  univers- 
ally followed  in  most  moving  picture  studios  up  to 
the  present  day. 

However,  this  order  of  things  must  soon  give 
way  to  the  complete  and  properly  constructed  pic- 
ture-play, with  detail  of  dialogue  and  action  as  it 
has  in  the  legitimate  theatre. 

The  sooner  this  comes  about  the  sooner  we  shall 
get  away  from  the  inane  form  of  entertainment 
which  now  is  given  in  most  of  our  show  houses, 
and  pass  on  to  a  better  and  higher  order  of  work. 


38  On  Picture-Play  Writing 

In  this  way  only  can  we  aspire  to  an  even  compe- 
tition with  the  legitimate  drama.  For  this  we  don't 
need  the  talking  picture,  with  its  film-record  form- 
ing perfect  synchronism  of  action  and  sound,  all  we 
need  is  better  plays,  produced  in  a  more  painstaking, 
tasteful  manner,  by  competent  directors  and  artists. 

Of  course,  there  are  some  difficulties  yet  to  be 
overcome  in  the  photographing,  developing,  print- 
ing and  projecting  of  the  pictures,  but  these  are 
comparatively  slight,  and  will  undoubtedly  be  over- 
come in  due  course.  The  main  difficulty  in  the  way, 
the  main  obstacle  to  normal  progress,  that  which 
makes  the  ordinary  moving  picture  a  laughing  stock 
and  a  byword  to  people  of  judgment,  good  taste 
and  discretion,  is  the  crude  method  by  which  the 
picture-play  is  constructed  and  produced. 

To  illustrate  this  matter  more  clearly,  I'm  tempt- 
ed to  quote  a  scenario  which  recently  passed  through 
my  hands,  also  to  describe  the  method  in  which  it 
was  staged. 

One  of  the  scenes  read :  "Man  and  woman  enter 
on  bridge  and  talk  as  they  pass  along." 

Now  the  first  thing  that  occurs  to  one's  mind 
is,  what  are  they,  old  or  young?  tall  or  short?  fat 
or  lean?  black,  white  or  yellow?  Then  what  in  the 
name  of  common  sense  are  they  talking  about? 
Politics  or  the  public  school  question?  Woman's 
suffrage,  war,  or  the  weather?  Are  they  quarreling 
or  courting? 


A  Hand-Book  §f  Workmanship  39 

Of  course  by  studying  the  entire  manuscript,  it 
was  possible  to  make  out  some  vague  notion  of  who 
and  what  the  characters  might  be,  and  what  they 
might  possibly  be  discussing.  Though  five  compe- 
tent judges  before  whom  I  laid  the  matter  could 
come  to  nothing  approaching  an  agreement  in  the 
matter. 

Now  this  obscurity  and  confusion  should  be 
entirely  unnecessary.  The  scene  should  have  been 
clearly  written,  the  topic  of  their  conversation  so 
clearly  indicated  that  there  could  be  no  possible 
doubt  in  the  matter.  Yet  there  is  nothing  more 
common  or  frequent  in  scenarios  than  such  mean- 
ingless scenes. 

I've  often  come  across  scenes  like  this:  "Mary 
and  Joe  come  into  parlor  and  have  a  love  scene,"  or 
"Dan  and  Pete  meet  in  the  park  and  have  a  quarrel," 
or  "Mother  and  daughter  are  in  an  excited  conver- 
sation." Such  a  method  of  construction  is  nothing 
more  nor  less  than  an  acknowledgment  of  one's  in- 
ability to  describe  properly  a  scene,  and  the  wish  to 
fall  back  on  the  mercy  of  the  director  or  actor. 

Recently  I  was  in  a  moving  picture  studio  where 
a  picture-play  was  being  produced.  Now  hours  upon 
hours  had  been  used  up  in  the  arranging  of  the  stage 
settings,  properties,  lights,  etc.  This  was  of  course 
all  commendable,  since  the  directors  did  not  quite 
know  what  they  wanted,  and  with  them  every  new 
setting  for  a  scene  was  an  experiment  in  an  unknown 


40  On  Picture-Play  Writing 

field.  But  what  attention  was  paid  to  the  rehearsal 
of  the  scenes?  Practically  none  at  all.  I  doubt 
very  much  if  any  of  those  taking  part  in  the  play 
had  anything  but  the  vaguest  notion  of  the  story. 

It  happened  that  there  was  only  one  girl  in  the 
scenes  I  witnessed,  and  she  was  scared  stiff,  and 
confused  out  of  all  idea  of  expression  or  vivacity  by 
the  constant  shouting  of  the  director,  even  while  the 
scene  was  being  played,  and  the  camera  boy  was 
photographing  it. 

The  directions  that  were  shouted  were  such  as 
made  it  difficult  to  hold  a  straight  face.  For  instance, 
at  the  very  end  of  the  final  scene,  a  very  ordinary 
and  unimpressive  piece  of  action  was  given,  namely : 
"sitting  in  a  chair."  Now  this  is  the  way  it  was 
conducted:  The  hero  and  heroine  had  deliberately 
placed  themselves  at  the  nearest  approach  to  the 
camera,  and  the  other  characters  had  all  walked  out. 
Then  the  director  shouted  to  the  girl  playing  the 
heroine,  "Ask  him  to  sit  down."  She  did  so  timidly 
and  modestly  as  was  becoming,  but  the  absurdity  of 
the  matter  rose  from  the  fact  that  there  was  only 
one  chair  in  the  scene,  and  she  had  been  directed  to 
sit  in  it  herself.  She  said,  "Won't  you  come  over 
and  sit  down,  please?"  or  something  to  that  effect. 
Then  she  took  the  hero  by  the  hand  and  led  him 
over  to  the  only  chair,  in  which  she  herself  deliber- 
ately sat,  leaving  the  hero  chairless.    A  discourtesy 


A  Hand-Book  gf  Workmanship  4i 

that  I'm  sure  the  little  lady  would  have  been  quite 
incapable  of  in  her  own  home  in  real  life. 

Now  then,  while  they  were  in  this  position, 
heroine  sitting,  hero  standing,  the  director  shouted : 
"Talk."  Both  gave  a  noticeable  start  as  their  nerves 
were  already  on  edge,  and  not  having  the  remotest 
idea  of  what  they  were  supposed  to  say,  they  both 
moved  their  lips,  attempting  to  talk  at  one  and  the 
same  time,  without  either  making  any  pretense  at 
listening  or  attending  to  what  the  other  was  saying. 
Then  the  director  shouted,  "Smile;"  and  after  the 
usual  startled  jump  at  the  sound  of  the  master's 
voice,  both  indulged  in  a  particularly  forced  and 
strained  grimace,  quite  as  painful  to  behold  as  no 
doubt  it  was  to  accomplish.  And  so  this  valuable 
contribution  to  the  moving  picture  art  came  to  an 
end. 

You  may  ask,  won't  this  look  alright  when  pre- 
sented on  the  screen?  Indeed  it  will  not.  It  will 
look  exactly  as  it  did  in  the  making,  if  not  worse. 
The  camera  does  not  lie,  and  when  it  leans  toward 
falsification  at  all,  it  is  not  in  the  matter  of  flattery 
nor  of  correcting  and  covering  up  of  mistakes  and 
absurdities.  It  is  rather  in  the  matter  of  making 
new  mistakes  or  exaggerating  those  already  made. 

But  you  will  say,  aren't  there  some  good  and 
really  artistic  pictures  made  from  brief  scenarios  o^ 
outlines  of  plot?  Hasn't  this  form  and  method  of 
construction  been  found  sufficient  for  some  produc- 


42  On  Picture-Play  Writing 

tions  of  merit?  To  this  I  say  yes.  The  moving 
picture  business  so  far  has  developed  about  half  a 
dozen  men,  who  have  the  necessary  art,  good  taste, 
judgment  and  technical  knowledge  fittingly  to  pro- 
duce a  moving  picture  play  even  from  such  raw. 
material.  But  every  one  of  them  is  a  capable  writer, 
and  creator  of  picture-plays,  and  I  contend  that  it 
is  simply  a  matter  of  memory  and  concentration 
with  them.  Their  play  is  written  in  their  excellently 
trained  minds,  for  they  are  a  sort  of  genius  created 
by  the  very  exigencies  of  the  case  which  I  am  de- 
scribing. And  there  is  not  one  of  them  who  would 
not  welcome  the  perfectly  written  picture-play  or 
any  other  step  forward  in  the  betterment  of  their  art. 

For  the  rest,  there  are  not  so  many  who  can  be 
safely  entrusted  with  the  production  of  a  picture- 
play  even  when  completely  and  carefully  written. 
Some  of  them,  as  well  as  the  actors  they  employ, 
show  such  a  complete  ignorance  of  essential  matters 
of  taste  and  civilized  customs,  that  any  particular 
point  of  offense  seems  almost  too  trivial  for  mention. 
A  casual  observance  of  the  many  pictures  exhibited 
daily  about  you,  will  bear  out  the  truth  and  fairness 
of  what  I  say.  And  this  is  not  a  matter  easily 
remedied. 

It  has  been  suggested  that  some  producers  as 
well  as  actors  might  profitably  take  positions  as 
servants  in  respectable  households,  assuming  that 
they  could  qualify  as  servants,  and  there  learn  the 


A  Hand -Book  §f  Workmanship  43 

rudiments  of  good  manners,  and  how  civilized  men 
and  women  live,  their  customs,  their  style,  and  ideas 
of  politeness  in  their  daily  life.  How  they  greet 
one  another  in  the  street  or  at  home.  How  they 
talk,  laugh,  walk.  How  and  when  they  sit  or  stand. 
How  and  when  they  remove  their  hats,  lay  aside 
their  cane,  gloves  and  top-coat.  How  to  assist  a 
lady  with  her  coat  or  wraps.  How  to  assist  a  lady 
into  or  out  of  a  carriage  or  automobile  and  how 
people  of  refinement  eat  and  drink.  Most  particu- 
larly this — their  table  manners. 

As  this  suggestion  is  impracticable  and  impossi- 
ble to  those  whom  it  might  most  benefit,  insomuch 
as  servants  are  generally  required  to  have  letters 
and  other  evidence  of  good  character,  I  would  sug- 
gest, since  there  are  abundant  books  on  this  subject, 
that  it  should  all  be  carefully  read  up,  by  those  who 
know  how  to  read,  and  observed  in  theatres,  also  in 
the  lobbys,  corridors  and  dining  rooms  of  our  better 
class  hotels  and  cafes,  and  even  in  the  churches  and 
on  the  street. 

Another  very  great  danger  to  those  employed  in 
the  moving-picture  business,  as  well  as  to  those 
employed  on  the  stage,  is  that  their  business  is  so 
exacting  and  absorbing  that  it  takes  them  away 
from  all  social  intercourse  with  people  in  other 
walks  of  life.  They  get  away  from  the  knowledge  of 
standards  and  ideals  of  real  life,  and  form  standards 
and  ideals  of  their  own.    So  their  minds  and  imagin- 


44  On  Picture-Play  Writing 

ations  become  warped  and  ingrown.  Talking  shop 
is  the  extent  and  variety  of  their  conversational 
ability,  and  they  are  in  great  danger  of  forming  a 
separate  and  distinct  social  class  as  the  gypsies  have 
done. 

And  these  are  the  people  among  whom  you  will 
most  often  hear  it  said  that  stories  and  picture-plays 
are  rejected  because  they  are  too  good  or  high  class 
for  the  patrons  of  our  theatres. 

This  only  goes  to  show  their  own  caliber  of  mind 
and  not  that  of  the  spectator.  There  is  nothing  in 
the  heavens  above,  or  on  the  earth,  or  in  the  sub- 
ways beneath  the  earth,  or  in  the  mind  of  the  moving 
picture  producer  or  exhibitor,  too  good  or  high  class 
for  the  patrons  of  moving  pictures. 

As  an  excellent  example  of  good  and  high  class 
work  which  has  been  vastly  popular  and  greatly 
appreciated  for  some  time,  we  can  turn  to  nature. 
The  Creator's  opinion  of  the  minds  of  his  spectators 
was  shown  when  he  hung  the  stars  in  the  heavens, 
stretched  the  wonderful  stage  curtain  of  the  sky 
above  us,  when  He  gave  us  the  marvelous  variety 
of  light  effects,  of  dawn  and  of  evening,  and  the 
lightning  and  the  shooting  stars,  surrounded  us  with 
all  the  wonderful  flowers,  blossoms,  rivulets,  land- 
scapes and  other  beauties  of  nature,  of  which  our 
best  art  is  but  a  weak  imitation.  In  argument 
against  the  very  wise  producer  you  can  say,  that 
these  wonderful  demonstrations  of  high  art  have 


A  Hand-Book  ^  Workmanship  45 

remained  popular  for  some  time,  and  in  all  proba- 
bility will  continue  successfully  at  the  same  old 
stand,  the  moving  picture  producer  and  small  exhibi- 
tor to  the  contrary  notwithstanding. 

Now  then,  to  return  to  the  actual  work  of  picture- 
play  construction.  The  first  scenario  or  scheme  and 
outline  of  characters,  situations  and  scenes  should 
be  in  no  way  hide-bound.  On  the  contrary,  it  should 
be  simply  provisional,  and  subject  to  endless  change. 
There  must  be  so  close  an  interdependence  between 
situation,  character  and  detail  of  action,  that  the 
writer  cannot  afford  to  bind  himself  in  advance,  to 
any  absolute  plan. 

You  will  often  find  that  instead  of  adhering  to 
your  original  scheme,  you  drift  almost  entirely  away 
from  it,  sometimes  changing  even  what  you  con- 
sidered your  main  situation  or  big  scene. 

This  occurred  to  me  quite  recently  when  I  was 
writing  a  picture-play  released  under  the  title  of 
"Anguished  Hours."  This  idea  originally  was  sug- 
gested by  that  old  song  the  "Mistletoe  Bough," 
which  relates  in  substance  how  a  young  woman  on 
the  night  of  her  marriage,  playfully  hid  in  an  old  air 
tight  chest,  which  by  a  fatal  accident  closed  on  her, 
with  a  spring  lock.  Her  husband  and  friends  search- 
ed vainly  for  her,  finally  giving  up  in  despair.  I 
developed  a  further  complication,  I  forgot  whether 
it's  in  the  song  or  not,  of  how  everyone  misjudged, 
the  young  woman,  and  said  she  had  eloped  with  a 


46  On  Pi  dure- Play  Writing 

man  who  had  been  rather  attentive  to  her  that 
evening,  and  who  suddenly  went  away  about  the 
time  she  disappeared.  Now  years  after,  the  old 
song  says,  the  husband  going  through  the  attic  of 
the  castle  where  this  old  chest  was  kept,  opened  it 
and  found  the  skeleton  of  his  lost  bride. 

I  at  once  fell  in  love  with  the  situation.  "Ha!" 
said  I,  "what  a  scene  where  the  husband  shall  find 
the  skeleton  of  his  lost  bride  in  the  old  chest.  If 
that  doesn't  make  them  sit  up  and  take  notice,  what 
will?" 

I  began  the  play.  The  first  scenes  went  alright, 
and  the  story  seemed  to  develop  superbly,  till  I  came 
to  the  scene  of  the  skeleton  in  the  chest.  .1  battled 
with  it  for  some  hours  quite  in  vain,  when  suddenly 
I  saw  what  was  wrong.  My  big  scene  did  not  fit 
at  all.  It  did  not  satisfy  my  sense  of  justice  that 
this  young  and  innocent  woman  should  die  for  no 
reason  whatever,  and  that  her  perfectly  good  and 
upright  husband  should  suffer  this  terrible  shock, 
for  no  better  cause  than  the  mere  entertainment  of 
a  few  picture-play  spectators.  It  struck  me  that  it 
was  quite  as  barbarous  as  the  spectacles  shown  in 
the  coliseum  of  the  ancients,  when  brave  men  and 
virtuous  women  were  slaughtered  in  the  arena  to 
make  a  Roman  holiday. 

So  my  big  scene  had  to  go.  I  cut  it  out  and  at 
once  everything  went  quite  smoothly.  It  was  my 
sense  of  justice  that  was  offended  by  this  scene.    My 


A  Hand-Book  §f  Workmanship  47 

sense  of  the  fitness  of  things,  of  right  and  wrong, 
and  depend  upon  it  the  spectator  watching  the 
picture  show,  no  matter  how  casually,  has  this  same 
sense  of  justice  too. 

Now  then,  I  would  lay  down  this  general  rule  in 
the  matter,  if  you  construct  a  picture  in  which  you 
unnecessarily  or  unjustly  kill  or  injure  a  man, 
woman,  child,  or  animal,  you  commit  an  offense 
against  art,  at  least  equal  to  the  offense  you  would 
commit  against  the  law,  should  you  actually  be 
guilty  of  the  same  brutal  violence  in  real  life. 

From  your  scenario,  or  brief  outline  of  the  action 
of  your  story  divided  into  from  twelve  to  forty 
scenes,  with  introduction  of  your  principal  char- 
acters, their  various  coming  on  and  going  off,  con- 
tention and  by  play  in  the  different  situations,  you 
come  down  to  the  work  of  construction. 

First  of  all  you  must  begin  to  evolve  a  clear  idea 
of  the  principal  characters  you  have  conceived  in 
your  imagination  as  best  fitted  for  presentation  in 
the  particular  story  or  series  of  situations  which 
you  have  thought  out. 

With  regard  to  the  number  of  characters  you 
should  use  in  a  particular  story;  this  of  course  is 
purely  relative.  My  favorite  answer  to  the  question 
is:  that  you  naturally  use  fewer  characters  in  a 
secret  elopement  than  in  a  national  convention,  in 
a  duel  than  in  a  battle  scene. 


48  On  Picture- Play  Writing 

The  only  safe  rule  in  this  matter  is  to  use  only 
as  many  principals  or  leading  characters  as  you  can 
conveniently  develop  and  as  many  extra  or  auxiliary 
characters  as  the  best  interpretation  of  your  theme 
or  story  demands. 

In  a  broad  social  study,  or  a  picturesque  romance, 
you  may  have  as  many  auxiliary  figures  as  you 
please,  keeping  in  mind  always  that  if  you  wish  to 
particularly  develop  any  unusually  impressive  char- 
acter, you  must  keep  that  character  very  much  in 
the  foreground,  and  not  allow  the  merely  auxiliary 
characters  to  interfere  nor  absorb  too  much  atten- 
tion themselves. 

In  a  subtle  comedy,  or  a  tragedy  involving  some 
important  point  of  ethics,  the  principal  characters 
should  be  few,  and  should  have  the  foreground  to 
themselves  as  much  as  possible. 

It  may  not  be  out  of  place  here  to  say  that  the 
reason  why  the  "dramatis  personae"  or  people  ap- 
pearing in  a  play  are  called  "characters"  is  because 
those  chosen  or  imagined  by  the  playwright  for 
such  a  purpose  are  supposed  to  be  the  sort  in  whom 
character  predominates,  impressive  types  who  repre- 
sent the  outcome  or  crystallization  of  unusual  ex- 
periences and  carry  with  them  the  atmosphere  of 
their  particular  walk  in  life,  not  merely  insipid  and 
uninteresting  people  who  serve  to  fill  in  the  back- 
ground, and  for  the  most  part  pass  unobserved. 

I  hope  it  is  unnecessary  to  warn  you  against  the 


A  Hand-Book  §f  Workmanship  49 

use  of  over  eccentric  names,  and  silly  puns  in  the 
make-up  of  your  manuscripts,  such  as  A.  Piker,  the 
Tinhorn  gambler,  and  Miss  Fewclothes,  the  Salome 
dancer. 

The  name  of  a  character  should  be  brief  first  of 
all,  so  that  if  you  have  occasion  to  use  it  in  a  letter 
or  subtitle  it  will  not  take  up  too  much  time  for 
picturing  it  on  the  screen,  and  so  that  it  can  be 
easily  read,  and  remembered.  Then  it  should  be 
characteristic  without  being  eccentric.  Farcial 
names,  within  reasonable  limits,  may  be  used  in 
farces;  eccentric  names  on  occasions  in  eccentric 
comedy,  while  soberly  appropriate  names  may  be 
used  in  serious  drama. 

Look  out  for  clearly  establishing  the  relationship 
of  each  character  to  all  of  the  other  characters,  also 
to  the  locations  and  surroundings  in  which  they  are 
found. 

Such  as,  for  instance,  in  the  opening  scene  of  a 
play  you  might  describe  Job  Worth,  a  substantial 
middle-aged  farmer,  is  harvesting  his  grain  field. 
He  indicates  by  removing  his  hat,  moping  his  brow 
with  a  bandana,  and  puffing  out  a  long  breath,  or  in 
some  other  characteristic  way,  that  it  is  hot  work. 
He  then  looks  off  expectantly,  shading  his  eyes  with 
his  hand,  and  indicates  by  expression  that  he  sees 
some  one  coming,  and  is  pleased.  He  calls  off  in 
the  same  direction  in  which  he  has  looked  and 
beckons  and  says,  "Hurry  Jane,  I'm  waiting  for 


50  On  Picture-Play  Writing 

you."  Then  proceeds  to  drive  his  horses  beneath 
some  convenient  shade  trees.  Turning  he  looks  off 
once  more  and  waves  his  hand  in  the  direction  from 
which  he  has  already  indicated  he  has  seen  some  one 
coming. 

Scene  2.  A  foot  path  running  through  a  grain 
field.  Jane,  a  sprightly  young  country  girl.  Job 
Worth's  daughter,  is  coming  along  in  the  direction 
of  the  field  where  we  saw  Job  Worth.  She  is  carry- 
ing a  lunch  basket,  and  a  stone  jug  of  drinking  water. 
Now  she  indicates  that  she  sees  her  father  waving 
to  her  and  waves  back  and  calls  to  him  in  a  girlish 
fashion  saying,  "I'm  hurrying  as  fast  as  I  can." 
Then  she  secures  a  firmer  hold  of  the  jug  and  basket, 
and  runs  off  in  the  direction  of  the  place  where  we 
left  the  father. 

Scene  3.  In  the  same  field  as  we  saw  before, 
only  pictured  from  a  different  viewpoint.  Job  Worth 
has  now  put  his  horses  in  the  shade,  and  is  waiting 
at  the  foot  of  a  large  oak  three  in  the  foreground  for 
the  arrival  of  his  daughter.  Directly  she  comes  on, 
stands  besides  him  and  so  by  the  manner  of  their 
greeting,  their  attitude  toward  each  other,  their 
relative  ages,  the  service  Jane  is  rendering  to  Mr. 
Worth  in  bringing  his  lunch,  and  jug  of  water,  and 
her  way  of  giving  them  to  him,  the  relationship  is 
established.  His  relationship  to  the  field,  reaper, 
and  horses  has  also  been  brought  within  the  range 
of  reasonable  probability  by  his  care  and  use  of 


A  Hand-Book  if  Workmanship  5i 

them.  The  afternoon  lunch  and  jug  of  water  need 
not  be  explained  as  it  is  almost  a  universal  custom 
in  the  West  and  Northwest,  to  stop  for  a  half  hour 
in  the  mid-afternoon,  to  rest  and  refresh  man  and 
beast.  Anyhow,  the  action  itself  and  the  object  of  it 
is  self  explanatory. 

So  with  a  little  forethought  and  ordinary  ingenu- 
ity, many  details  which  are  frequently  neglected  can 
be  just  as  easily  cleared  up. 

If  a  man  is  seated  on  the  porch  of  a  cottage  in 
his  shirt  sleeves,  reading  a  paper  or  magazine,  or 
otherwise  comfortably  occupied,  it  is  reasonable  to 
suppose  that  he  lives  in  that  cottage.  If  a  woman 
approximately  the  same  age  as  the  man,  steps  out 
on  the  porch,  with  her  hat  off,  and  greets  him  with 
some  little  caress  or  other  sign  of  affection,  it  is 
quite  easy  to  surmise  that  she  is  his  wife.  Then  if  a 
little  girl  comes  romping  in  at  the  gate,  with  a  few 
school  books  swinging  from  the  end  of  a  strap,  and 
kisses  the  woman  and  climbs  onto  the  man's  knee, 
we  conjecture  with  good  cause  that  she  is  their  child, 
just  returning  from  school,  etc. 

So  the  fisher  maiden,  the  Indian  girl,  the  art 
model,  the  bank  clerk,  the  lawyer,  doctor  or  clergy- 
man, the  cowboy  or  Indian  brave,  the  astronomer 
or  inventor,  or  whatever  the  type  of  character,  he 
or  she  must  be  clearly  established  in  the  early  part 
of  the  picture-play,  in  all  his  or  her  bearings  and 


52  On  Picture- Play  Writing 

relationship  to  the  story,  location  and  other  char- 
acters presented. 

It  may  occur  to  you  that  family  relationship  is 
generally  expressed  in  real  life,  in  jealousy,  bicker- 
ings, quarrels  and  contention.  Now  this  is  no  doubt 
very  true,  and  presents  an  interesting  phase  of  life, 
and  a  worthy  lesson  in  domestic  virtue.  If  by  intro- 
ducing your  characters  in  a  family  brawl,  you  place 
them  properly  in  your  story,  why  not?  I  certainly 
see  no  cause  for  objection.  All  this  can  be  more 
clearly  seen  in  a  sample  picture-play  which  I  will 
show  later  on. 

Having  introduced  our  characters  and  established 
their  relationship  to  one  another,  and  to  their  sur- 
roundings, we  then  watch  them  carefully  through- 
out the  body  of  the  play,  keeping  in  mind  their  dif- 
ferent distinctive  traits,  which  they  must  never  for 
one  moment  lose,  whether  facing  death,  or  in  the 
midst  of  ridicule,  or  carried  away  by  the  emotions 
of  some  strong  situation. 

The  next  matter  that  calls  for  our  attention  is 
the  grouping  of  incidents,  in  such  a  way  that  they 
are  marshalled  for  the  most  effective  attack.  Say 
for  example,  you  have  a  melodramatic  situation 
where  a  group  of  pioneer  families  are  within  a  stock- 
ade defending  themselves  against  hostile  Indians, 
and  you  have  by  a  proper  group  of  incidents  shown 
that  the  last  drop  of  water  is  gone,  and  men,  women 
and   children   are    famishing   from   thirst.      Death 


A  Hand-Book  §f  Workmanship  53 

threatens  from  without  from  the  murderous  Indians, 
and  a  perhaps  more  horrible  death  threatens  within 
from  the  slow  torture  of  thirst.  Now  a  volunteer 
comes  forth,  one  who  says  he  will  attempt  to  break 
through  the  line  of  savages  and  obtain  water  and 
help  from  the  outside. 

With  due  caution,  he  starts  out  on  his  desperate 
adventure.  Now  the  grouping  of  incidents  require 
that  we  follow  him  rather  than  remain  with  those 
inside  the  stockade.  .  There  is  where  the  interest  lies. 
We  have  already  seen  the  action  inside  and  outside 
of  the  stockade  in  all  its  excitement  and  variety,  but 
this  adventure  presents  a  new  promise  of  excite- 
ment. We  want  to  know  what  difficulties  he  meets 
with,  whether  or  not  he  is  wounded,  killed,  or  ar- 
rives safely  on  the  outside.  When  we  have  landed 
him  at  his  destination  or  seen  him  safely  on  his  way, 
we  are  ready  to  return  to  the  stockade,  but  not  be- 
fore. 

The  proper  grouping  of  incidents,  and  marshall- 
ing of  your  forces,  is  of  the  utmost  importance. 

I  give  this  broad  example  of  a  melodramatic 
situation  to  illustrate  my  meaning,  because  in  a 
broad  sweeping  action  of  this  sort  the  method  is 
obivious,  one  has  but  little  choice.  But  in  subtler 
scenes  and  situations,  the  application  of  this  prin- 
cipal of  construction  is  most  difficult,  and  is  ac- 
quired only  by  long  practice  and  mature  thought. 

Look  out  for  useless  and  meaningless  scenes,  or 


54  On  Picture-Play  Writing 

incidents  in  scenes  which  do  not  properly  belong 
to  the  story.  They  only  distract  your  attention  and 
waste  precious  time. 

The  great  point  of  advantage  which  the  picture- 
play  has  over  the  legitimate  or  stage  play  is  that  it 
can  present  almost  perfect  continuity  of  action. 
Don't  forget  this  precious  privilege  of  our  art. 
Follow  each  principal  character  through  all  the 
windings  of  his  development,  in  the  various  scenes 
of  the  play,  so  that  the  spectator  can  be  reasonably 
assured  that  he  has  practically  not  lost  sight  of  the 
hero  or  heroine  during  any  of  the  important  mo- 
ments of  the  crises  or  other  interesting  events  of 
their  lives  which  you  are  presenting,  showing  the 
spectator  into  the  privacy  of  their  homes  and  even 
their  innermost  thoughts. 

At  an  early  stage  in  the  course  of  construction 
of  your  play,  you  will  be  confronted  by  the  ques- 
tion of  stage  settings,  furniture,  and  locations.  You 
want  to  know  if  you  should  draw  up  a  scene  and 
property  plot  as  is  done  in  theatrical  productions. 
You  naturally  want  to  know  just  where  certain  bits 
of  action  take  place. 

You  wonder  if  Betty  is  standing  at  the  well  when 
she  says  yes  to  Dan ;  or  if  they  are  seated  in  the  old 
swing.  You  wonder  again  if  she  is  seated  on  a 
lounge,  and  he  kneeling  on  the  rug  beside  her  when 
he  proposes.  You  wonder  where  Frances  is  when 
James  kisses  her  for  the  first  time. 


A  Hand-Book  §f  Workmanship  55 

Locations,  stage  settings,  furniture,  costuming, 
and  other  accessories,  play  a  very  important  part  in 
picture-play  making  of  the  day,  and  you  should  use 
the  most  painstaking  care  in  describing  every  re- 
quirement of  your  scenes  adequately,  but  not  too 
minutely,  nor  diffusively. 

It  is  a  good  general  system  to  avoid,  as  much  as 
possible,  expressions  which  show  that  you  have  a 
stage  scene,  or  studio  setting  in  mind,  and  not  a 
happening  in  real  life,  in  its  proper  environment 
and  surroundings. 

Do  not  be  too  elaborate,  and  do  not  lecture  about 
the  desirable  locations  or  settings  for  your  scenes. 
Simply  state  briefly  and  concisely  what  after  care- 
ful thought  you  deem  most  fitting  for  a  certain  bit 
of  action  and  in  all  probability  your  hints  will  be 
taken  in  good  part  by  the  director.  It  is  not  so  long 
ago  when  scenery  and  furniture  played  a  very  small 
part  in  moving  pictures.  We  can  all  remember  a 
few  years  back  when  whole  scenes  were  played 
against  a  canvas  drop  with  a  stove,  table  and  chair 
painted  on  it,  all  of  which  swayed  gracefully  as  the 
actors  knocked  against  it ;  also  settings  with  window 
panes  made  of  paper,  which  flapped  lightly  in  the 
breeze,  as  the  story  went  on.  Even  yet  there  are 
enough  inaccuracies  and  absurdities  in  settings,  cos- 
tumes and  furniture  to  make  it  worth  one's  while 
to  visit  the  picture  theatres  for  the  amusement  de- 
rived from  this  matter  alone. 


56  On  Picture-Play  Writing 

Not  only  in  describing  your  settings  and  stage 
directions,  but  also  in  visualizing  the  action  of  your 
scenes,  the  idea  of  a  studio  set,  or  prepared  scene, 
should  be  as  far  as  possible  from  your  mind. 

You  should  see  and  describe,  the  hillside  cabin 
door,  garden,  seashore,  office,  kitchen,  drawing 
room,  or  wherever  the  action  takes  place,  not  as  an 
action  rehearsed  in  a  particular  setting  for  a  picture- 
play,  but  as  a  happening  in  real  life.  Using  this 
method  will  greatly  help  you  to  acquire  ease  and  a 
refreshing  naturalness. 


A  Hand-Book  gf  Workmanship  57 

CHAPTER  VII 
"Beginning,  Middle,  End" 


ARISTOTLE,  writing  on  the  subject  of  play 
construction  over  two  thousand  years  ago, 
laid  down  the  simple  rule  that  a  play  should 
have  a  beginning,  a  middle  and  an  end.  Now  though 
he  was  writing  about  plays  of  a  very  different 
nature,  his  old  rule  most  obviously  applies  to  our 
modern  picture-play,  a  marvel  in  mechanical  inven- 
tion of  which  he  never  dreamed. 

So  we  say  that  the  picture-play  must  have  a  fit- 
ting and  appropriate  beginning,  and  proceed  in 
orderly  fashion  in  the  course  of  its  development  by 
way  of  the  middle  to  the  end. 

This  is  so  self-evident  a  fact,  it  may  occur  to 
you  that  we  did  not  need  a  great  philosopher  like 
Aristotle  to  think  of  it.  It  is,  nevertheless,  true  that 
we  can  see  it  violated  every  day  in  a  great  many  of 
our  moving  picture  plays. 

Though  most  of  them  have  a  middle,  they  are 
frequently  lacking  in  a  beginning,  and  instead  of 
ending,  they  simply  leave  off. 

Where,  then,  and  how  should  a  picture-play  be- 


58  On  Picture-Play  Writing 

gin  according  to  the  requirements  of  art?  It  is  true 
that  moving  picture  producers  with  very  few  ex- 
ceptions do  not  judge  their  plays  according  to 
artistic  standards  or  requirements.  They  are  passed 
upon,  for  the  most  part,  by  individuals  unhampered 
by  any  such  knowledge,  and  who  make  no  pretense 
to  it  whatsoever. 

Having  in  mind  then  a  character,  who  has  lived 
through  a  series  of  stirring  events  suitable  to  your 
purpose  you  must  decide  with  good  discretion  at 
what  particular  moment  of  the  crisis  you  are  to 
start  off.  In  this  regard,  you  are  in  much  the  same 
I>osition  as  the  camera  man  studying  his  finder,  to 
see  just  how  much  of  a  given  location  he  can  "get 
in,"  what  he  must  sacrifice  or  cut  off  to  give  the 
most  striking  effect. 

There  are  some  writers  and  producers  who  can 
never  decide  where  to  begin.  They  keep  going  back, 
and  going  back  into  the  antecedents  of  a  character 
or  of  a  story,  till  they  almost  begin  with  the  fable 
of  Adam  and  Eve.  To  satisfy  their  sense  of  what 
is  justly  due  a  subject,  they  often  go  back  thirty  or 
forty  years,  and  travel  through  many  countries,  ig- 
noring entirely  the  requirements  of  unity  of  time 
and  of  place. 

In  a  play  of  stirring  nature  you  can  begin  almost 
in  the  middle  of  it,  plunging  right  into  the  main  crisis, 
or  series  of  crises  leading  up  to  it,  even  at  the  sacrifice 


A.  Hand-Book  gf  V[^orkmanship  59 

of  minor  antecedent  circumstances  and  detail.  This 
method  it  seems  to  me  is  well  fitted  to  the  picture- 
play  of  ordinary  length,  because  it  gives  time  to 
develop  the  important  points  of  the  play.  It  shows 
the  characters  not  in  a  long  sequence  of  events, 
which  do  not  bring  out  their  natures  and  essential 
traits,  but  thrusts  them  at  once  into  a  series  of 
short,  sharp  crises,  in  which  we  soon  find  out  what 
they  are  made  of. 

If  your  play  happens  to  be  of  a  lighter  nature, 
and  you  want  to  entertain  in  a  gentle  and  quiet  man- 
ner, it  is  well  to  begin  with  your  characters  all 
serene  and  happy  in  their  ordinary  walk  of  life,  then 
suddenly  plunge  them  into  a  crisis  of  some  kind, 
comedy,  farcical,  or  mildly  serious,  or  let  the  crisis 
develop  from  some  unexpected  quarter,  like  the 
cloud  on  the  horizon,  at  first  no  bigger  than  a  man's 
hand,  but  presaging  the  storm. 

Apart  from  historical  subjects,  which  are  some- 
times profitably  used,  it  is  better  to  arrange  your 
story  so  that  it  comes  easily  within  the  frame  or 
scope  of  the  picture,  leaving  nothing  to  be  explained 
by  subtitles,  or  other  annoying  methods. 

A  picture  play,  unlike  a  play  of  the  other  sort, 
should  require  no  exposition. 

Instead  of  long  drawn  out  episodes  lasting  many 
years,  which  make  inconsiderate  demands  on  the 
imagination,  furnishing  the  loose,  go-as-you-please, 
ragged-edged,  out  at  elbow  sort  of  drama,  which 


60  On  Picture-Play  Writing 

defy  all  notion  of  time  or  place,  or  unity  of  action, 
and  destroy  all  illusion  of  reality,  set  your  specta- 
tors, so  to  speak,  at  the  finishing  line  of  the  race. 
Save  them  the  tedious  delays,  annoyances,  and  dis- 
appointments of  the  starting  post,  and  the  first  laps 
or  heats.  Give  them  the  brief  sharp  moments  of 
expectancy  and  doubt,  when  horses  and  men  are 
straining  their  utmost  to  win  in  face  of  odds  and  a 
heavy  field.  Then  show  the  winners  crowned  and  the 
losers  taking  their  dust. 

A  few  short  preliminary  scenes  arousing  inter- 
est, and  exciting  curiosity  are  not  out  of  place.  But 
even  such  scenes  should  contain  if  possible  a  sub- 
ordinate crisis,  contributory  to  the  m.ain  crisis  of 
your  play.  This  will  give  to  each  scene  or  group 
of  scenes  an  individual  interest  of  their  own.  Al- 
ways keeping  in  mind  that  every  scene  and  every 
incident  in  every  scene  must  be  part  and  parcel  of 
the  main  story  and  forshadow  without  forstalling 
the  main  situation  or  climax. 

If,  when  a  picture  has  been  run  half  way  through, 
the  spectator's  interest  is  not  aroused  and  he  doesn't 
care  a  row  of  pins  whether  he  stays  for  the  rest  of 
the  picture  or  returns  to  his  home  in  Brooklyn,  it  is 
because  the  construction  is  at  fault. 

To  the  middle  of  the  picture-play,  or  the  second 
grouping  of  scenes  belongs  the  working  up  or 
heightening  of  the  interest  aroused  in  the  earlier 
scenes. 


A  Hand-Book  gf  "Workmanship  ei 

A  great  number  of  stories  have  been  produced 
and  some  of  them  not  without  merit  which  seem  to 
set  aside  this  rule  entirely.  They  form  a  sort  of 
running  fire  which  might  at  anytime  take  a  turn  in 
any  possible  direction,  without  falsifying  its  ante- 
cedents or  your  expectations.  No  part  of  it  is  inti- 
mately involved  in  any  other  part.  If  the  material 
were  found  too  long  for  a  one  thousand  foot  release, 
several  scenes  might  be  cut  out,  or  it  might  be  di- 
vided into  a  couple  of  separate  reels,  or  it  might 
even  be  run  backwards  as  a  matter  of  fact,  starting 
with  the  last  scene  and  proceeding  to  the  first  with- 
out necessitating  any  considerable  re-adjustments. 

The  greatest  fault  with  this  sort  of  picture-play 
is  that  it  precludes  all  idea  of  tension  or  suspense; 
i.  e.,  the  reaching  out  or  stretching  forward  of  the 
spectator's  mind  to  discover  what  is  to  follow. 

Patrons  of  the  show  will  stand  a  moderate 
amount  of  preparation,  placing  of  characters,  and 
introduction  of  theme  or  story,  but  to  hold  them,  a 
tension  of  suspense  must  soon  set  in,  otherwise  they 
become  restless  and  tired,  gossip  with  each  other  or 
tell  stories,  or  comment  on  this  very  fault  of  the 
picture-play. 

One  of  the  clearest  examples  of  tension  or  sus- 
pense is  in  the  story  which  I  recall  translating  from 
the  Latin  as  a  school  exercise  when  a  boy,  "The 
Sword  of  Damocles."  The  man  seated  in  the  place 
of  honor  at  the  banquet  suddenly  discovers  that  a 


62  On  Picture-Play  Writing 

heavy  and  sharp  sword  is  hanging  over  his  head 
by  a  single  hair.  Naturally  he,  as  well  as  the  rest 
of  those  present,  are  eagerly  speculating  as  to  how 
soon  the  sword  will  fall,  to  the  exclusion  of  all  other 
thoughts.  This  is  the  state  of  suspense  or  eager 
expectancy  which  you  must  try  to  arouse  in  the 
spectator's  mind. 

Now  in  building  up  this  tension  or  state  of  sus- 
pense, you  often  create  certain  finger  posts  which 
point  definitely  in  one  direction,  or  raise  a  reason- 
able demand  for  a  certain  logical  sequence,  or  scene 
to  follow,  which  scene  you  must  not  neglect  even  a^ 
a  sacrifice  of  the  pleasure  it  may  sometimes  give  you, 
to  puzzle  by  some  paradox  or  startle  people  out  of 
their  shoes  by  some  sudden,  violent  and  unexpected 
turn  of  events. 

In  this  way  you  sometimes  give  the  spectator  a 
glimpse  of  the  end  or  point  you  are  aiming  at,  but 
you  keep  to  yourself  the  means  by  which  you  are 
going  to  get  there. 

This  sort  of  obligatory  scene  may  be  demanded 
as  a  logical  effect  or  result  of  the  cause  you  have 
presented. 

It  may  be  demanded  by  art  itself,  as  a  point  or 
scene  you  should  not  neglect  in  the  development  of 
your  theme. 

It  may  be  demanded  as  a  sufficient  reason  for 
some  marked  change  in  an  important  character. 

In  the  picture  presentation  of  a  bit  of  history  or 


A  Hand-Book  §f  Workmanship  63 

a  well  known  story,  it  may  be  demanded  by  the 
generally  accepted  facts,  or  the  established  fiction. 

Now  the  end  of  your  picture-play  will  often  cause 
you  considerable  trouble.  You  can  consider  your- 
self very  happy  if  the  logical  outcome  of  your  theme 
does  not  force  you  into  the  necessity  of  a  tame  last 
scene,  nor  one  in  which  you  must  kill  off  some  of 
your  principal  characters  in  order  to  get  rid  of  them. 
If  your  story  sustains  and  increases  the  tension  up 
to  the  final  scene,  you  are  mose  fortunate.  Probably 
the  most  successful  way  of  doing  this,  will  be  to  save 
your  climax  or  big  situation  to  the  final  scene  or 
group  of  scenes,  where  it  seems  properly  to  belong. 

This  does  not  mean  that  you  must  always  close 
your  story  with  some  stirring,  and  emphatic  crises. 
It  may  often  happen  that  it  is  desirable  to  indicate 
by  a  few  brief  incidents  what  afterwards  become  of 
your  principle  characters,  or  what  was  the  final  out- 
come of  your  group  of  situations.  In  this  way,  you 
can  often  and  quite  artistically  give  a  quiet,  idyllic 
ending  to  a  very  stirring  picture-play.  It  may  even 
form  an  anti-climax,  but  if  it  is  reasonably  demand- 
ed for  the  rounding  of  the  theme,  it  should  by  all 
means  be  made  use  of. 

As  a  general  rule,  in  this  matter,  I  would  say, 
never  start  a  story  which  you  can't  properly  and 
successfully  finish.  Don't  undertake  to  write  your 
picture-play  at  all,  unless  the  end  is  plainly  in  sight. 
In  this  way,  you  will  avoid  the  sickening  make- 


64  On  Picture-Play  Writing 

shift  endings  where  some  character  or  incident  is 
dragged  in  by  the  hair  of  the  head  at  the  last  mo- 
ment, to  help  out  a  badly  constructed  story. 

Keep  away  from  blind  alley  themes,  that  lead 
nowhere.  Unless  a  problem  is  capable  of  being 
reasonably  and  satisfactorily  solved,  it  is  not  fit 
material  for  a  picture-play.  Whether  it  be  tragedy, 
comedy,  or  farce,  if  the  end  does  not  satisfy  that 
certain  something  in  the  mind,  the  feeling  of  what 
is  just,  the  sense  of  truth,  humor,  beauty,  sublimity, 
or  simply  of  the  fitness  of  things,  then  it  is  better 
not  to  attempt  it  at  all. 

Trying  to  write  a  picture-play  which  neither 
satisfies  the  higher  nor  the  lower  instincts  of  the 
mind,  that  leaves  one's  desires  unsatisfied,  no  matter 
what  other  attractive  point  it  may  possess,  is  a 
blunder  and  waste  of  time. 

It  will  help  you  in  this  regard  if  you  avoid  sordid 
subjects,  founded  on  a  study  of  vice,  ugliness  and 
disease. 

As  a  final  word,  don't  let  the  ending  of  your 
picture-play  take  the  spectators  entirely  by  surprise. 
By  this  I  don't  mean  that  you  should  close  your 
play  in  the  conventional  tableau  with  the  hero  pos- 
ing with  the  heroine  in  his  arms,  but  that  you  should 
make  the  spectator  feel  that  the  moment  of  closing 
your  story  was  well  chosen,  and  satisfactory  to  him, 
though  he  may  not  be  able  to  tell  the  reason  why. 


A  Hand-Book  gf  Workmanship  65 

CHAPTER  VIII 

The  Finished  Product 


As  a  further  effort,  to  be  useful  in  this  matter, 
I  am  including  a  picture-play,  the  different 
points  of  which  I  will  comment  upon  briefly. 

I  thought  that  a  study  of  a  play  completely 
written,  which  has  been  sold  and  successfully  pro- 
duced, and  has  given  satisfaction  to  producers,  ex- 
hibitors, critics  and  spectators,  would  help  you  on 
toward  a  fuller  and  more  practical  knowledge  of  the 
subject 

If  you  are  a  regular  attendant  of  the  picture 
theatres,  you  may  have  seen  this  play  presented 
under  another  name.  I  have  changed  the  name  to 
keep  away  from  any  suggestion  of  advertising.  It 
seems  to  me  that  the  one  given  below  is  appro- 
priate and  bears  close  relationship  to  the  theme  or 
story. 

This  picture  play,  barring  a  few  added  comments 
which  I  hope  will  be  of  benefit,  is  given  just  as  it 
was  submitted  to  the  firm  which  bought  it. 

"A  MAN'S  A  MAN" 

The  theme  of  this  picture-play  is :  "A  man  is 
always  a  man,  and  has  still  the  essential  virtues  of 


^ 


66  On  Picture-Play  W^riting 

manhood,  no  matter  how  low  he  has  descended  in 
the  social  scale." 

You  see  I  have  chosen  a  play  with  a  theme  in 
the  stricter  sense,  as  well  as  a  story,  to  give  a  fuller 
and  better  example  of  craftsmanship. 

V  "Synopsis  of  the  Story" 

This  is  the  story  of  "Jane,"  a  young  society  girl 
who  is  engaged  to  "Jim,"  a  young  business  man  of 
her  own  set. 

At  a  garden  party  given  by  Mrs.  Orr,  a  leader  in 
their  set,  Jane  becomes  jealous  of  Jim's  apparent 
show  of  preference  for  their  hostess,  and  quarrels 
with  him.  In  the  moment  of  pique  and  anger,  she 
allows  Mr.  Dean,  an  old  roue,  to  help  her  with  her 
wraps  and  show  her  to  her  automobile. 

Mrs.  Orr,  taking  advantage  of  this  sudden  breach 
between  the  two  young  lovers,  lavishes  attention  on 
Jim,  but  he  is  too  much  concerned  about  his  sweet- 
heart to  respond  to  her  advances,  and  leaves  the 
party  in  a  very  depressed  mood. 

Now  Jane  returning  to  her  home,  dismisses  her 
maid  and  sits  down  despondently  contemplating 
suicide.  She  gathers  in  a  little  heap  all  the  jewelry 
and  other  presents  which  she  has  received  from  her 
sweetheart,  writes  a  farewell  note  to  him,  then  takes 
a  revolver  and  prepares  to  die. 


A  Hand-Book  §f  Workmanship  67 

In  the  meantime,  Pete,  a  burglar  prowling  around 
happens  to  decide  on  Jane's  house  for  his  nightly 
raid,  crawls  through  the  window,  and  tip-toes  in 
without  being  noticed  by  Jane.  He  is  startled  at 
sight  of  the  revolver  in  her  hand,  is  about  to  make 
a  hasty  retreat,  but  seeing  that  she  is  all  alone,  over- 
powers her,  gets  possession  of  the  revolver,  smothers 
her  screams  with  the  dainty  wrap  she  is  wearing, 
ties  her  securely  in  the  chair  where  she  is  sitting, 
and  proceeds  to  burglarize.  He  is  greatly  surprised 
to  find  the  little  heap  of  jewelry  and  other  valuables. 
On  taking  immediate  advantage  of  the  windfall,  he 
finds  Jane's  farewell  note  to  her  sweetheart.  This 
is  too  much  for  him.  The  heartbroken  tone  of  the 
note,  the  pressence  of  the  pretty  girl,  arouses  the  ^ 
spark  of  manhood  in  him,  and  the  sense  of  shielding  / 
the  woman  in  distress,  which  every  man  possesses.  ^ 
His  mind,  rendered  alert  and  resourceful  by  the 
needs  of  his  craft,  is  quick  to  act.  He  forces  Jane 
to  call  her  sweetheart  on  the  telephone,  then  has 
them  send  for  a  clergyman,  and  at  the  point  of  the 
revolver,  sees  that  they  are  married.  Having  ac- 
complished this  good  deed,  while  the  lovers  are 
happily  engrossed  in  each  other,  oblivious  of  their 
surroundings,  Pete  quietly  walks  away  with  the 
swag  he  had  previously  gathered. 

Here  you  have  a  brief  synopsis  of  the  story.  I've 
used  a  very  simple  and  direct  style,  keeping  in  mind 
the   fact  that  it  was   intended  for  the  blase  andl 


68  On  Picture-Play  Writing 

sophisticated  mind  of  the  scenario  editor  and  pro- 
ducer. In  this  matter  you  find  yourself  at  a  great 
disadvantage.  Instead  of  addressing  yourself  di- 
rectly to  the  normally  impressionable  mind  of  the 
public  as  story  writers  of  the  other  sort  do,  you  are 
addressing  yourself  to  an  expert  in  his  line,  to  whom 
practically  nothing  is  new,  whose  mind  is  surfeited 
with  stories  of  all  kinds  and  calloused  to  the  mere 
beauties  of  style. 

With  regard  to  the  length  of  the  synopsis,  opin- 
ions vary.  I  simply  say  let  it  be  adequate  to  its 
purpose.  As  the  Irishman  when  asked  how  long  a 
man's  leg  should  be,  answered  naively,  "Long 
enought  to  reach  from  his  body  to  the  ground." 

"A  MAN'S  A  MAN" 
CAST  AND  DESCRIPTION  OF  CHARACTERS 

Jane A  young  society  girl. 

Jim A  successful  business  man,  her  fiance. 

Mrs.  Orr.  ,  .A  young  widow,  leader  in  her  social  set. 

Pete A  burglar. 

A  hard  looking  character  of  the  ex-convict  type, 
should  be  about  fifty  years  old  in  appearance. 

Mr.  Dean An  overdressed  old  roue. 

A  middle  aged  clergyman,  a  maid,  guests  at  the 
garden  party  and  others  as  indicated  in  the  story. 
Period — Present. 
Location — U.  S.  A. 
Season — Summer. 


A  Hand-Book  §f  Workmanship  69 

The  object  of  the  above  information  is  self  evi- 
dent. It  is  for  the  types  of  characters,  costuming, 
manners,  national  customs,  style  of  architecture,  etQu-> 

A  play  supposed  to  take  place  in  Egypt  in  the 
second  dynasty  of  the  Pharaohs,  or  in  China  in  the 
time  of  Confucius,  would  of  course  be  radically  dif^! — ^ 
ferent  in  all  such  details. 

"  Scene  i. 

In  the  beautiful  garden  of  Mrs.  Orr's  mansion. 
There  are  numerous  Chinese  lanterns,  festoons, 
garlands,  tables  laid  with  refreshments.    On  a  porch 
in  the  background  is  an  orchestra,  and  all  other  ar- 
rangements appropriate  for  a  garden  party. 

Most  of  the  guests  are  putting  on  their  wraps, 
preparing  to  go  home.  Jane,  a  young  society  girl, 
is  in  the  foreground  engrossed  in  earnest  conversa- 
tion with  Jim,  her  fiance,  a  young  business  man. 
Mrs.  Orr,  the  hostess,  a  dashing  widow,  passes  by 
them,  stops,  smiles  at  Jim,  drops  a  small  bouquet 
which  she  is  wearing.  Jim  picks  it  up  and  hands  it 
to  her.  She  thanks  him  very  graciously,  and  en- 
gages him  in  conversation,  then  pins  a  little  flower 
from  her  bouquet  in  the  lapel  of  his  coat.  Jane  be- 
comes jealous,  quarrels  with  Jim.  He  tries  to  ex- 
plain. She  won't  listen  to  him.  The  widow  looks 
on  with  an  amused  smile.  Jane  takes  off  her  engage- 
ment ring  and  returns  it  to  Jim,  then  calls  for  her 
wraps.    A  maid  hands  them  to  her.    Jim  offers  to 


70  On  Picttwe-Play  Writing 

help  her  with  them  but  Jane  refuses,  permitting  Mr. 
Dean,  an  old  roue,  who  comes  up  opportunely  to  do 
her  this  service.  Jane,  in  the  moment  of  pique  and 
anger,  turns  away  from  Jim,  takes  the  old  roue's 
arm,  and  they  leave  the  garden.  Jim  stands  sadly 
thinking  for  a  moment,  when  Mrs.  Orr  tries  to  con- 
sole him.  She  says,  "Ah,  I  see  you  two  have  quar- 
reled, I  congratulate  you  both!  You  certainly  are 
the  most  mismated  couple  I  know,  etc."  He  keeps 
looking  in  the  direction  where  Jane  went  out.  Then 
excusing  himself,  thanking  his  hostess  and  bidding 
her  goodnight,  he  leaves  her  and  follows  his  sweet- 
heart. Mrs.  Orr  turns  her  attention  to  the  other 
guests. 

Scene  2 

Outside  the  gates  of  the  mansion  in  which 

the  party  has  taken  place. 

Several  guests  are  getting  into  their  automobiles, 
carriages  and  various  conveyances.  Mr.  Dean  assists 
Jane  into  her  automobile.  Just  then  Jim  comes  out 
and  tries  to  speak  to  her,  also  starts  to  get  into  her 
automobile,  but  she  slams  the  door  in  his  face,  tells 
the  chauffeur  to  drive  on,  leaving  both  Jim  and  the 
old  roue  standing  there  bewildered.  Mrs.  Orr  comes 
out  in  time  to  witness  Jim's  discomfiture.  After  a 
moment,  Jim  turns  and  goes  slowly  on  his  way 
home.    Mr.  Dean  turns  his  attention  to  Mrs.  Orr. 

By  the  locations,  orchestra,  tables  with  refresh- 


A.  Hand-Book  gf  Workmanship  7i 

ments,  guests,  etc.,  it  can  be  seen  at  a  glance  that  a 
garden  party  is  represented.  Jane  and  Jim  in  the 
foreground,  engrossed  in  conversation,  are  easily 
recognizable  as  a  young  couple  engaged  to  be  mar- 
ried. The  hostess  introduces  herself  by  her  attitude 
toward  her  guests. 

Mr.  Dean,  with  his  ever-ready  attentions  to  all 
females,  is  a  type  we  all  know.  So  having  intro- 
duced our  characters  happy  and  serene,  we  start  a 
couple  of  them  quarreling,  which  is  the  first  link  in 
the  chain  of  incidents  of  our  picture-play. 

The  quarrel  is  carried  into  the  second  scene  so 
as  to  emphasize  it.  Also  by  the  action  of  the  scene 
we  further  establish  the  relation  of  the  characters 
to  each  other  and  to  their  surroundings. 

I  merely  indicate  the  nature  of  the  dialogue  with- 
out writing  it  out  in  detail,  because  the  present 
school  of  producers  and  actors  are  accustomed  to 
this  form  of  play,  and  would  find  more  details  rather 
cumbersome.  So  I  make  this  compromise.  Though 
as  I've  said  before,  I  have  no  doubt  that  the  play  of 
the  future  will  be  complete  in  every  way. 

Scene  3. 

Outside  of  Jane's  home.    A  handsome  suburban 
residence.     Moonlight  effect. 

The  automobile  drives  up.  Jane  gets  out,  dis- 
misses the  chauffeur  and  goes  into  her  house. 


72  On  Picture-Play  Writing 

Scene  4. 
Sitting  room  in  Jane's  home,  adjoining  her  bed- 
room which  has  portieres  half  drawn.    Obscure 
light.    Everything  is  delicately  feminine  and  in 
good  taste. 

Jane  comes  in,  turns  on  the  switch.  Effect  oi 
change  of  light.  The  maid  who  has  been  waiting 
up  for  her,  is  sitting  sleepily  in  a  chair.  She  gets  up 
quickly  ready  to  help  her  mistress.  Jane  dismisses 
her  for  the  night.  The  maid  realizing  something 
has  gone  wrong,  goes  quietly  out. 

In  these  two  scenes  we  follow  Jane.  Firstly,  be- 
cause the  interest  centres  principally  around  her. 
Secondly,  it  fits  conveniently  into  the  scheme  of 
things  to  follow  her  to  her  destination  in  her  swift 
automobile,  afterwards  into  the  privacy  of  her  home, 
because  this  gives  time  for  Jim,  who  left  the  scene 
after  her,  to  proceed  on  foot  to  his  home.  His  going 
on  foot  moreover  accentuates  his  disappointment  in 
not  having  accompanied  his  sweetheart  home  in  her 
car. 

A  suburban  residence  is  suggested  because  it 
seems  more  probable  that  the  happenings  of  the  play 
might  transpire  without  interruption  or  interference 
in  a  secluded  thinly  populated  suburb,  than  in  a 
crowded  district  of  the  city. 

In  scene  three,  I  mention  that  the  effect  of  moon- 
light is  desired,  because  it  will  serve  to  indicate  the 
lateness  of  the  hour,  also  adds  a  touch  of  romance  to 


A  Hand-Book  §f  Workmanship  73 

the  scene.  The  effect  of  moonlight  is  suggested  in 
pictures  by  tinting  the  film  a  bluish  shade.  The 
film  may  also  be  tinted  to  show  the  ruddy  glo'w  of 
lamp  light,  and  no  end  of  other  effects  suitable  to 
various  conditions.  Delightful  results  are  gotten 
also  by  blending  a  tint  and  a  tone,  but  as  I  said  be- 
fore, these  thing  all  belong  to  a  different  branch  of 
the  art.  All  you  need  to  do'  in  writing  your  play  is 
to  describe  clearly  and  concisely  just  what  effect  you 
want,  without  any  attempt  at  technical  detail,  and 
the  producer  will  accomplish  it  in  his  own  way. 

Scene  5. 
Outside  of  a  bachelor  apartment  house, 
where  Jim  lives.    Moonlight  effect. 
He  arrives,  stands  in  the  doorway,  sadly  ponder- 
ing over  the  quarrel  he  has  just  had  with  his  sweet- 
heart, hesitating  whether  to  go  at  once  and  try  to 
see  her  and  square  matters,  or  to  wait  till  some  more 
favorable  time.     Finally  decides  to  let  the  matter 
rest,  so  goes  into  the  house. 

Scene  6. 

In  Jim's  den  or  sitting  room.    Everything  is  mannish 

and  clubby.     The  light  is  obscure,  except  for 

moonlight  which  shines  through  the  window. 

Jim  comes  in,  turns  on  the  switch.     He  is  very 

moody  and  rriorose,  crosses  over  to  his  table,  picks 

up  Jane's  picture,  looks  at  it  fondly,  sits  down  in  a 

desperate  despondent  sort  of  way. 


74  On  Picture-Play  Writing 

Having  seen  Jane  safely  home  in  the  two  pre- 
ceding scenes,  we  now  naturally  turn  to  Jim,  be- 
cause we  expect  that  there  is  at  least  a  mild  curiosity 
as  to  his  whereabouts.  As  he  is  unmarried,  it  suits 
our  purpose  to  place  him  in  a  bachelor  apartment. 
Besides,  having  placed  Jane  in  a  private  residence, 
it  lends  variety  to  the  play  to  give  him  a  different 
sort  of  domicile.  The  action  of  the  two  scenes  is 
self  explanatory. 

Scene  7. 
In  Jane's  sitting  room  as  before. 

Jane  is  still  very  desperate  and  sad.  She  takes 
up  Jim's  picture,  which  is  in  a  dainty  frame  on  her 
table  before  her,  looks  at  it  fondly,  kisses  it,  then 
going  to  a  drawer  in  her  desk,  takes  out  a  bunch  of 
his  letters,  also  some  jewelry,  trinkets,  and  other 
presents  which  he  had  given  her,  puts  them  on  the 
table,  takes  pen  and  paper  and  writes  a  note  to  him. 
She  tries  to  hold  back  her  tears,  stops  once  or  twice 
to  wipe  her  eyes,  kiss  his  picture  and  accuse  him  of 
faithlessness.  Having  finished  the  note,  she  reads 
it  over  sadly,  seals  it,  addresses  it,  puts  it  with  the 
package  of  letters  and  presents,  takes  a  last  look 
around  the  room,  kisses  Jim's  picture  once  more, 
says  good-bye  to  her  little  home,  draws  the  portieres 
between  the  bedroom  and  sitting  room,  then  taking 
a  small  revolver  from  her  desk,  she  prepares  to  kill 
herself. 

Here  by  a  natural  and  logical  sequence  of  inci- 


A  Hand-Book  §f  Workmanship  75 

dents,  we  have  lead  up  to  a  crisis.  So  we  have  writ- 
ten the  beginning  or  first  part  of  our  play.  You  will 
note  in  the  course  of  its  construction  the  minor  or 
auxiliary  characters  were  properly  disposed  of,  and 
how  we  have  concentrated  all  attention  on  the  two 
principal  or  leading  characters. 

Scene  8. 
Outside  of  Jane's  house  as  before. 
Pete,  a  hard,  coarse  looking  character,  about 
forty-five  or  fifty  years  old,  of  the  ex-convict  type, 
with  a  serous  melancholy  expression,  comes  prowl- 
ing along,  looking  about  cautiously  to  see  that  he 
is  not  observed.  He  quietly  goes  up  to  Jane's  house, 
contemplating  how  he  can  break  in.  After  sizing 
the  house  up  for  a  moment  carefully,  he  passes 
around  the  side. 

Scene  9. 
Window  outside  of  Jane's  bedroom. 
Pete  comes  on  cautiously  as  before.    After  some 
little  difficulty,  opens  the  window  and  crawls  in. 

Scene  10. 
In  Jane's  bedroom. 
Pete  comes  in,  still  in  a  melancholy  mood,  looks 
about,  sees  articles  of  value  on  the  bureau,  then  indi- 
cates that  he  hears  a  slight  noise  in  the  next  room, 
tip-toes  over  to  the  portieres  and  peeks  through. 
By  introducing  Pete  at  this  particular  time  of  the 


76  On  Picture-Play  Writing 

action  we  serve  two  purposes;  first,  we  emphasize 
his  importance  by  the  unexpected  moment  chosen 
for  his  arrival,  secondly,  we  create  and  intensify 
tension  or  suspense  in  the  action  of  our  play,  by 
having  left  Jane  almost  in  the  act  of  shooting  herself. 
But  this  suspense  must  not  be  dragged  out  to  an 
unreasonable  length,  so  we  return  to  her  in  the  next 
scene. 

Scene  ii. 

Inside  Jane's  sitting  room,  as  before. 

She  is  sitting  desperately  with  the  revolver  in  her 
hand,  just  about  to  kill  herself,  when  her  attention 
is  arrested  by  a  noise.  She  does  not  look  toward 
her  bedroom,  but  stands  looking  in  the  opposite  di- 
rection, and  listens  to  locate  the  noise.  Just  then 
Pete  tip-toes  in  behind  her.  Seeing  her  with  a 
revolver  in  her  hand,  he  starts  to  make  a  hasty 
retreat,  but  noting  that  she  is  alone,  cautiously 
sneaks  up  behind  her  and  grabs  her  revolver  hand, 
holds  his  other  hand  over  her  mouth,  so  she  will 
not  scream,  quickly  takes  the  revolver  away  from 
her,  takes  the  scarf  which  she  wears  over  her  shoul- 
ders, binds  it  around  her  mouth,  then  takes  a  rope 
from  his  pocket,  and  ties  her  hand  and  foot  in  the 
chair.  Having  done  this,  he  quietly  goes  about  with 
the  same  melancholy  expression,  searching  the  room 
for  valuables. 

So  we  have  saved  Jane  from  one  crisis  by  the 


A  Hand-Book  §f  Workmanship  ^^ 

timely  arrival  of  the  burglar,  but  have  not  destroyed 
our  tension  or  suspense  of  interest,  because  we  have 
immediately  plunged  her  into  another  greater  and 
more  interesting  crisis. 

Scene  12. 
In  Jim's  room,  as  before. 

He  is  sitting,  in  the  same  desperate  mood,  con- 
templating Jane's  picture.  He  takes  the  telephone 
from  his  desk,  is  about  to  remove  the  receiver  and 
call  Jane  up.  He  hesitates  a  moment,  shakes  his 
head  sadly,  puts  the  telephone  down,  and  sits  in 
the  same  mood  as  before. 

Without  abusing  our  right  of  intensifying  our 
story,  we  left  Jane  in  a  still  more  dangerous  and 
critical  position  than  before,  but  it  was  necessary  to 
satisfy  curiosity  regarding  Jim,  so  the  situation  is 
entirely  natural. 

Scene  13. 
In  Jane's  room,  as  before. 

Pete,  having  made  a  thorough  search,  now  finds 
the  jewelry  and  other  presents  piled  upon  the  table 
with  the  love  letters.  He  looks  them  over  with  in- 
terest, finally  comes  across  the  note  which  Jane 
wrote  to  Jim,  reads  it  over,  looks  at  her,  then  reads 
it  again,  looks  at  Jane  interestedly  once  more.  Then 
making  up  his  mind  to  straighten  up  affairs,  he  looks 
at  the  envelope  and  reads  the  address.  After  this 
he  removes  the  scarf  from  around  Jane's  mouth. 


78  On  Picture-Play  Writing 

takes  off  the  telephone  receiver,  holds  it  to  her  ear 
and  the  transmitter  to  her  mouth,  and  tells  her  to 
call  Jim  up  and  ask  him  to  come  there  at  once.  She 
at  first  refuses,  but  he  threatens  her  and  so  she  re- 
luctantly obeys. 

Scene  14. 
In  Jim's  room  as  before. 

Jim  hears  the  telephone  ring,  quickly  takes  down 
the  receiver  and  listens,  first  in  great  surprise,  then 
realizing  what  is  wanted,  he  says  "Yes,  yes,"  hangs 
up  the  receiver,  gets  his  hat  and  rushes  out  of  the 
house. 

Scene  15. 
Outside  of  Jim's  house  as  before. 

Jim  comes  out,  looks  about  for  a  moment,  hails 
a  passing  cab,  gets  in  and  rides  off  toward  Jane's 
house. 

Scene  16. 
In  Jane's  sitting  room  as  before. 

Pete  now  in  a  business-like  manner,  puts  the 
scarf  once  more  over  Jane's  mouth,  a  necessary  pre- 
caution, then  looking  at  her  with  the  same  melan- 
choly expression  he  has  worn  throughout  the  whole 
story,  tells  her  that  he  will  go  to  the  door  and  wait 
for  Jim.  He  puts  the  revolver  in  his  pocket,  feels 
her  bonds  to  see  that  she  is  carefully  tied,  then  quiet- 
ly passes  out 


A  Hand-Book  §f  Workmanship  79 

Scene  17. 
In  front  hallway  of  Jane's  home,  lighted  only  by 
moonlight  shining  through  the  glass  of 
the  door  and  transom. 
Pete  tip-toes  in,  cautiously  opens  the  door,  and 
peers  out,  then  indicates  he  sees  the  one  he  is  look- 
ing for,  and  prepares  to  receive  him. 

Scene  18. 
Outside  of  Jane's  house  as  before. 
Jim  drives  up  in  a  cab,  gets  out,  dismisses  the 
cabman  and  rushes  in. 

Scene  ig. 
In  the  hallway  as  before. 
Pete  opens  the  door.  Jim  comes  in,  and  seeing 
the  obscure  figure  in  the  dim  light,  thinks  it  is  Jane 
and  reaches  out  for  an  embrace,  when  he  is  con- 
fronted by  Pete's  revolver  and  commanded  to  march 
in  quietly.  Jim  is  dumbfounded,  but  is  forced  to 
obey.    Pete  follows  him  in. 

Scene  20. 
In  Jane's  sitting  room  as  before. 
Pete  and  Jim  come  in,  Pete  with  his  revolver  still 
pointed  at  Jim.  The  latter  immediately  wants  to 
release  Jane.  Pete  orders  him  to  step  away  from 
her,  shows  him  Jane's  pitiful  note,  Jim  reads  it.' 
Then  Pete  orders  him  to  get  down  on  his  knees  and 


80  On  Picture-Play  Writing 

ask  her  pardon.  He  does  so.  Pete  releases  Jane's 
bonds  and  tells  her  to  throw  her  arms  around  Jim's 
neck  and  kiss  him.  She  is  demure,  and  bashfully 
refuses,  but  Pete  points  the  revolver  at  her  and 
orders  her  to  do  so,  then  she,  very  much  frightened, 
hugs  Jim  with  all  her  might.  He  then  orders  Jim  to 
go  to  the  telephone  and  call  up  a  clergyman.  Jim 
hesitates  a  moment.  Pete  encourages  him  by  theat- 
ening  to  shoot  him  if  he  does  not  do  so  at  once,  so 
he  goes  to  the  'phone  and  calls  up  a  clergyman. 

The  preceding  group  of  scenes  are  so  intimately 
related  that  they  form  one  single  action,  that  of 
bringing  the  young  lovers  together,  so  it  has  not 
been  necessary  to  comment  upon  them  separately. 
In  all  the  scenes  in  which  Jane's  note  to  Jim  has  been 
used,  it  has  not  been  necessary  to  flash  it  on  the 
screen,  because  its  text  is  rendered  so  obvious  by 
the  action  leading  up  to  it  that  it  can  have  but  one 
meaning,  that  of  a  heart  breaking  farewell  to  her 
sweetheart,  just  before  leaving  this  world  forever 
as  she  intended.  So  it  would  be  superfluous  to 
show  it,  besides  it  would  rather  be  an  insult  to  the 
intelligence  of  the  average  spectator.  Whereas, 
to  leave  it  to  his  imagination  is  a  neat  bit  of  flattery 
to  his  intuition  and  shrewdness. 

By  an  easy  and  natural  transition,  in  about  the 
middle  of  scene  twenty,  we  pass  from  the  middle 
or  second  part  of  our  play  to  the  third  part  or  end. 


A  Hand-Book  gf  Workmanship  si 

Scene  21. 
In  a  well-to-do  clergyman's  study. 
The  clergyman  has  been  sitting  up  late,  writing 
the  scenario  of  his  next  Sunday's  sermon.  He  is 
very  intent  on  his  work,  but  suddenly  hearing  the 
telephone  bell  ring,  answers  it,  saying  he  will  be 
there  at  once,  and  taking  his  hat  and  coat,  he  goes 
out. 

Scene  22. 
Inside  Jane's  sitting  room  as  before. 
Jim  having  finished  telephoning,  now  stands  be- 
wildered, wondering  what  he  must  do  next.  Pete 
orders  him  to  return  to  his  position  on  his  knees  be- 
fore Jane,  and  orders  her  to  hug  him  once  more. 
Jane  does  so,  this  time  very  heartily.  Pete  now 
directs  him  to  go  to  the  front  door  and  admit  the 
clergyman.  Jim  hesitates  about  leaving  Pete  alone 
with  Jane,  but  Pete  forces  him,  at  the  point  of  the 
revolver,  to  do  as  he  is  directed.  Then  Pete  goes 
into  Jane's  bedroom  once  more  but  turns  and 
watches  her  through  the  partly  drawn  portieres. 

Scene  23. 
Outside  of  Jane's  house  as  before. 
The  clergyman  comes  up  hastily,  goes  to  the 
door  and  is  met  by  Jim  who  leads  him  in. 

Scene  24. 
In  Jane's  sitting  room  as  before. 
Jim  and  the  clergyman  come  in.     Pete  conceals 


82  On  Picture-Play  Writing 

himself  behind  the  portieres  so  that  he  is  not  seen 
by  the  new  arrival.  Jim  is  rather  embarrassed  over 
the  situation.  The  clergyman  stands  waiting  for 
instructions.  Pete  shoves  his  revolver  between  the 
portieres.  Jim  sees  this  and  quickly  explains  to  the 
clergyman  that  he  and  Jane  wish  to  be  married  at 
once.  The  clergyman  consents,  takes  his  book,  they 
stand  up  ready  for  the  marriage  ceremony.  The 
clergyman  says  at  least  one  witness  is  necessary. 
Jim  hesitates,  looks  around,  then  indicating  to  Jane 
that  they  will  call  Pete,  goes  into  her  bedroom. 

Scene  25. 
Inside  Jane's  bedroom  as  before. 
Jim  comes  in,  explains  to  Pete  that  he  must  be 
bestman.  Pete  indicates  that  he  isn't  dressed  for 
the  occasion.  Jim  says  it  doesn't  matter.  Pete  tells 
him  alright,  that  he  will  be  with  him  in  a  moment; 
then  crossing  to  Jane's  bureau,  combs  his  hair, 
powders  his  nose,  etc.,  with  Jane's  things,  then  he 
and  Jim  go  out  together. 

Scene  26. 
Sitting  room  as  before. 
Pete  and  Jim  come  in.  Pete  is  introduced  to 
the  clergyman.  The  clergyman  starts  to  perform 
the  ceremony.  He  gets  up  to  the  part  where  Jim 
is  to  place  the  ring  on  the  bride's  finger.  Jim  indi- 
cates that  he  has  no  ring.  Pete  comes  to  the  rescue, 
tells  them  wait  one  moment,  steps  aside  in  the  fore- 


A  Hand-Book  §f  Workmanship  83 

ground  so  that  they  won't  see  what  he  is  doing, 
takes  out  an  ample  leather  pouch  from  his  pocket, 
spills  out  a  handful  of  rings  and  other  jewelry,  after 
carefully  going  over  the  lot,  picks  out  a  neat 
wedding  ring,  puts  the  other  jewelry  back  in  the 
pouch  which  he  puts  away,  then  hands  the  clergy- 
man the  wedding  ring.  The  ceremony  proceeds. 
After  the  ceremony  is  over,  Jim  feels  in  his  pocket 
to  give  the  clergyman  money,  is  embarrassed  to 
find  that  he  has  none.  Pete  comes  to  the  resue  once 
more,  draws  out  a  bill,  and  hands  it  to  the  clergy- 
man, who  thanks  him.  The  clergyman  giving  his 
blessing  once  more.    Pete  leads  him  to  the  door. 

Scene  27. 
Outside  the  front  door  of  Jane's  home. 
Pete  says  good-bye  to  the  clergyman,  who  goes 
on  his  way,  while  Pete  returns  into  the  house. 

Scene  28. 
Jane's  sitting  room  as  before. 
Pete  conies  in.  Jane  and  Jim  stand  there  bash- 
fully. Jim  shakes  Pete's  hand,  thanks  him.  Jane 
holds  out  her  hand  and  thanks  him  too.  Pete  now 
showing  the  first  sign  of  humor,  since  he  has  been 
in  the  story,  wipes  off  his  mouth  in  preparation  to 
kiss  the  bride.  Jane  is  at  first  horrified  but  then 
thinking  he  really  deserves  a  kiss,  comes  up  to  him 
prepared  to  give  him  his  reward.  Pete  becomes 
serious  once  more  and  respectfully  taking  her  hand, 


84  On  Picture-Play  Writing 

kisses  it,  heaves  a  sigh,  and  turns  away  sadly.  Jane 
and  Jim  look  at  him  with  pity.  Then  Jim  tells  her  how 
happy  he  is  and  how  thankful  he  will  always  be  to 
the  unexpected  friend.  While  they  are  all  absorbed 
in  each  other  and  planning  what  they  will  do  for 
Pete,  he  standing  there  with  head  bowed  sorrow- 
fully, sees  the  jewelry  and  other  valuables  which  he 
had  packed  up,  so  with  a  last  look  of  farewell  to 
the  happy  lovers,  gathers  the  swag  and  passes  silent- 
ly out  into  the  night. 

So  without  having  to  resort  to  subtitles,  letters 
or  telegrams,  we  have  brought  the  play  to  a  satis- 
factory ending.  Though  the  ending  is  rather  by 
way  of  being  a  surprise,  still  from  certain  little 
hints  and  finger  posts,  we  cannot  say  that  it  was 
entirely  unexpected.  The  denomination  of  the 
clergyman  was  purposely  omitted  to  save  any 
chance  of  religious  feeling.  If  the  producer  should 
have  any  choice,  he  can  readily  adjust  the  matter 
to  his  own  liking. 

The  little  touch  at  the  end  where  the  burglar 
arouses  himself  from  his  near-reform  and  makes  off 
with  the  swag,  though  not  strictly  moral,  is  so  thor- 
oughly human  and  germane  to  the  character,  that  I 
could  not  omit  it.  It  is  moreover  reasonable  to 
believe  that  the  happy  young  couple  will  not  greatly 
miss  what  he  took,  and  readily  forgive  him. 


A  Hand-Book  §f  Workmanship  85 

CHAPTER  IX 

Random  Hints 


IN  producing  a  picture-play,  whether  in  the  studio 
or  outside  the  garden  wall,  seashore  or  moun- 
tain, aboard  ship  or  wherever  else,  a  certain 
wedge  shaped  space  is  laid  out  and  marked  with 
lines  of  some  convenient  sort  to  form  the  actual 
boundaries  within  which  the  artists  taking  part  in 
the  scene  must  confine  their  movements. 

The  narrow  end  of  this  space,  about  five  to  eight 
feet  wide,  starts  about  eight  or  ten  feet  in  front  of 
the  camera,  and  spreads  out  indefinitely,  though  the 
important  action  is  kept  within  a  comparatively 
small  space  close  to  the  camera.  This  space  varies 
a  little  according  to  the  breadth  and  depth  of  defini- 
tion of  the  lense  used. 

You  see  at  a  glance  that  this  is  just  contrary  to 
an  ordinary  stage  setting  where  the  widest  end  of 
a  more  or  less  wedge  shaped  space  is  toward  the 
audience  and  is  usually  painted  in  perspective. 

The  reason  for  this  is  that  the  stage  setting  is 
planned  for  the  human  eye,  whereas  the  moving 


86  On  Picture-Play  Writing 

picture  setting  is  planned  for  the  eye  of  the  camera. 

Moving  picture  scenery  is  not  painted  in  perspec- 
tive, unless  some  special  effect  is  desired,  because 
the  camera  forms  its  own  perspective. 

The  actual  space  in  which  the  principal  action 
of  the  ordinary  picture-play  takes  place  is  about 
five  or  six  feet  wide  and  less  than  ten  feet  in  length. 
Frequently  not  even  this  much  space  is  used,  as 
when  the  principal  characters  are  brought  very 
close  to  the  camera,  and  are  cut  off  at  the  knees  or 
waist.  This  latter  method  is  called  the  American 
Foreground,  as  the  American  producers  were  first 
to  see  the  advantage  of  concentrating  the  spectators' 
attention  on  the  face  of  the  actor.  In  this  way  the 
subtler  points  of  the  picture-play  are  conveyed  by 
facial  expression  and  by  actually  speaking  the  dia- 
logue written  or  suggested  by  the  author. 

Our  American  method  has  occasionally  been 
criticised  as  inartistic,  though  it  really  has  the  pre- 
cedent of  the  greatest  sculptors  and  painters  for  its 
defense,  as  you  may  see  in  our  Metropolitan  Muse- 
um, or  wherever  art  treasures  are  exhibited.  No 
doubt  this  method  was  taken  in  the  first  place  from 
the  great  masters. 

An  improved  method  of  rehearsal  would  be  to 
give  out  a  copy  of  the  manuscript  to  each  of  the 
principal  artists  who  is  to  take  part  in  the  picture- 
play,  some  days  before  the  actual  time  of  rehearsal, 


A  Hand-Book  §f  Workmanship  87 

so  as  to  give  time  for  a  thorough  study  of  the  dif- 
ferent parts. 

The  rehearsals  must  be  done  according  to  the 
convenience  of  the  locations  chosen,  though  there 
is  an  obvious  advantage  in  giving  a  first  general 
rehearsal  in  the  studio  or  some  other  fitting  place 
before  starting  on  the  actual  production  of  a  picture. 

Why  the  time  wasted  in  endless  delays  prepar- 
ing scenery  and  properties  has  not  been  taken  ad- 
vantage of  for  rehearsals  is  beyond  me. 

Before  actually  photographing  the  different 
scenes,  which  it  is  very  seldom  convenient  to  take 
in  rotation,  more  thorough  and  detailed  rehearsal 
should  be  gone  through,  till  each  artist  is  as  near 
perfect  in  their  part,  and  as  entirely  at  their  ease 
as  possible.  Then  let  the  action  of  the  scene  be 
photographed,  without  the  necessity  of  the  director 
distracting  the  artists'  attention  by  shouting  and 
prompting,  which  shows  up  quite  as  badly  on  the 
screen  as  prompting  and  directing  of  a  bad  first  night 
performance  shows  up  on  the  ordinary  stage. 

A  book  of  considerable  length  might  profitably 
be  written  on  this  subject  of  rehearsals  alone. 

The  reason  I  have  not  dealt  specifically  with  the 
matter  of  multiple  reel  picture-plays,  which  are  now 
coming  into  so  much  prominence,  is  because  that  in 
taking  the  two,  three  or  more  reels  as  a  whole,  or 
complete  picture-play,  the  method  of  construction  is 
the  same  as  in  a  single  reel  subject. 


88  On  Picture-Play  Writing 

It  is  so  clearly  a  neglect  of  a  very  particular 
vantage  point  of  picture-play  production,  to  have  a 
character  pass  from  the  interior  of  one  house  or 
room,  directly  into  the  interior  of  another,  that  I 
have  not  thought  it  necessary  to  dwell  on  it  in  the 
body  of  this  book.  The  reason  for  avoidance  of  this 
anomaly  is  obvious.  In  doing  it  you  defeat  your 
own  purpose  by  destroying  the  illusion  of  two  dis- 
tinct houses  maybe  some  considerable  distance 
apart,  and  you  destroy  the  continuity  of  your  story 
by  neglecting  to  keep  up  with  your  characters  in 
their  movements.  However,  after  you  have  clearly 
established  the  relative  positions  of  your  houses, 
if  the  action  of  your  characters  demands  rapidity, 
keeping  in  mind  the  fact  that  the  development  of 
your  characters  in  action,  is  more  important  than  the 
technique  by  which  you  present  the  characters,  you 
may  take  whatever  liberties  you  see  fit  in  the  matter. 

In  fact  as  I  said  before  there  is  no  hide-bound 
rule  in  picture-play  making.  The  great  end  and 
object  of  the  art  is  to  express  characters  in  action, 
and  all  rules  and  technique  have  been  created  for 
this  purpose. 

A  point  frequently  neglected  is  having  characters 
go  off,  say  to  the  right  of  the  scene,  and  immediately 
enter  on  the  right  of  the  following  scene.  This  must 
inevitably  suggest  to  the  spectator  that  the  char- 
acter in  question  has  gone  all  the  way  around  the 


A  Hand-Book  if  Workmanship  89 


earth,  or  taken  some  other  circuitous  method  of 
reaching  his  destination. 

Now  I  come  to  another  point  of  construction 
which  I  will  notice  for  just  a  moment  or  so.  I 
mean  the  "Subtitle"  and  its  use.  We  have  noted 
that  dramatic  action  is  made  up  chiefly  of  contrast 
and  conflict.  There  is  nothing  so  dramatic  and 
nothing  so  effective  on  the  screen,  as  a  conflict  of 
some  kind  between  two  people.  A  conflict  of  wit, 
a  conflict  of  swords  or  fists,  a  conflict  of  passions. 
There  is  nothing  more  dramatic  and  intensely  inter- 
esting than  conflict  between  two  or  more  people,  ex- 
cept another  sort  of  conflict  which  is  frequently  far 
more  dramatic,  namely  the  conflict  which  takes  place 
in  the  solitary  human  mind.  Now  the  Sub-title,  which 
is  purely  a  convention  of  picture-play  making,  is 
what  we  must  frequently  fall  back  on  to  help  out 
this  important  sort  of  conflict.  It  should  be  used 
very  sparingly,  and  never  when  the  same  knowledge 
can  be  given  to  the  spectator  and  the  same  effect 
created  by  action  or  facial  expression,  or  even  by 
the  use  of  a  letter,  telegram  or  diary.  But  keeping 
in  mind  our  leading  rule  that  the  highest  aim  of  the 
picture-play  is  to  show  the  greatest  quantity  and 
highest  quality  of  human  life  and  character,  it  is 
very  often  necessary  to  use  the  subtitle. 

In  some  of  my  recent  picture-plays,  I've  been 
praised  for  managing  to  convey  my  meaning  with- 
out any  subtitles,  letters,  telegrams  or  other  "writ- 


90  On  Picture-Play  Writing 

ing  on  the  wall."  And  it  is  always  a  pleasure  to 
set  aside  or  overcome  such  conventions. 

In  many  picture-plays  one  may  manage  to  ex- 
press characters  quite  clearly  and  satisfactorily 
without  any  subtitles.  But  if  it  is  desirable  to  show 
some  subtle  point  which  can't  be  conveyed  by  mere 
action,  then  we  must  fall  back  on  this  really  childish 
means. 

You  may  contend  that  there  are  all  sorts  of  ab- 
struse things  revolving  in  the  mind  of  the  spectator, 
but  this  cannot  be  depended  upon.  The  bald  and 
frequent  use  of  subtitles  to  cover  up  great  gaps  in 
continuity  is  of  course  to  be  condemned,  also  the 
bromidic  forms  such  as,  "A  week  later,"  "Next  day," 
and  other  expressions  which  have  lost  their  meaning 
by  too  frequent  use,  and  really  convey  about  as 
much  idea  to  the  eye  accustomed  to  seeing  them, 
as  the  ticking  of  a  clock  does  to  the  ear  inured  to 
its  sound. 

Technique  was  made  for  the  picture-play.  The 
picture-play  was  not  made  for  technique.  So  you 
must  often  sacrifice  niceties  of  construction  for  the 
sake  of  clearer  and  fuller  expression  of  character 
and  human  life. 

One  is  usually  expected  to  furnish  a  brief  synop- 
sis or  short  story  of  their  picture-play  with  the  man- 
uscript submitted,  however,  information  regarding 
this  matter,  also  the  particular  shape,  size  and  form  of 
manuscript  desired  by  the  various  producers,  their 


A  Hand-Book  if  Workmanship  91 

scale  of  prices  and  methods  of  dealing  with  the 
writer,  can  be  readily  obtained  by  applying  to  them 
personally  or  by  letter.  Most  of  them  have  brief 
pamphlets  printed  for  the  purpose. 

There  are  upwards  of  ten  thousand  picture-plays 
produced  every  year  in  the  various  studios  through- 
out the  world,  and  a  fair  average  of  these  are  shown 
to  about  twenty  millions  of  spectators  of  all  classes 
and  nations  before  they  are  finally  put  on  the  shelf. 
This  certainly  should  be  sufficient  stimulus  and 
inspiration  to  the  ambitous  writer. 

With  regard  to  trick  pictures  or  photographing 
illusions,  they  belong  to  another  branch  of  the  tech- 
nique, which  would  hardly  pay  you  to  study  as  they 
are  going  more  and  more  out  of  vogue  every  day. 
Artistically  the  vision,  the  double  exposure  and  other 
illusions  created  by  the  camera,  have  about  the  same 
standing  as  the  subtitle.  They  should  be  avoided 
when  more  legitimate  methods  answer  the  purpose. 

Now  what  the  general  picture-play  producer 
knowns,  is  not  of  great  importance,  as  it  principally 
concerns  the  picture-play  of  the  past.  What  really 
counts  is  what  he  doesn't  know,  and  what  you  by 
persistent  labor  and  patience  may  hope  to  teach  him, 
for  it  concerns  the  picture-play  of  the  future. 

I  repeat  here  what  I  said  before,  that  no  great  art 
can  be  founded  on  the  study  of  sordidness,  vice  and 
ugliness. 


92  On  Picture-Play  Writing 

It  is  the  mission  of  the  picture-play  to  teach  by 
showing  the  Hght  and  not  the  darkness,  the  beauti- 
ful and  not  the  repulsive,  the  sublime  and  not  the 
abyss.  Let  this  be  your  motto  from  a  high  moral 
principal  and  sense  of  responsibility  to  the  millions 
of  men,  women  and  children  throughout  the  world 
who  will  profit  by  your  art. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


THEATER  ARTS  LIBRARY 

JAN  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


RECElV^t^^LtBRARY 
•       ART  LIBRARY 


St 


2  4  is 


31991 


RECEIVED 

APR  271997 

r\r\  I  O  t-ii^i  ir\r»  1|^ 


r>  r^  ,^,  ^  , 


n  n 


MAY  0  3  2008 


315 


University  o\  Calitornia,  Los  Ani 


L  005  992  040  5 


-*ffe  -*.- 


